Sean
by Judar
Summary: A presence is released from an ancient prison and must decide his role in this new world.
1. Negative, I am a meat popsicle

Richard adjusted his first transparency into focus, slowly tweaking the knob until the image was as clear as possible. He then crossed the small room, his loafers shuffling on the thin carpet and switched off the lights. Only the glow from the projector now lit the short conference table and its three occupants. Returning to the table, Richard quickly flipped through his manila folder of transparencies to be sure everything was in order. He then looked up and across the table, addressing his small audience.  
  
"First off," he stated, "I want to apologize for the use of transparencies, however the time needed to create slides was not available."  
  
The men didn't reply. Richard knew they didn't actually care but he had to be sure about his voice before he began.  
  
"Anyhow, this is what we have."  
  
Richard turned to the wall behind him and to the image displayed by the projector. It was the image of a large block of ice, as tall and as wide as some of the full sized crates which sat next to it. The surface of the ice was quite rough and opaque, the block having recently been cut from a much larger ice berg. Besides its size, the block didn't seem overly significant, except that if one looked closely enough, the image of a man's face could almost be made out deep under the surface.  
  
"Early yesterday morning, about nine A.M. eastern standard time, the US naval sub USS Dallas was making a standard patrol under the polar icecap when they began to pick up a faint EMP. Tracking it, they soon came to the edge of a polar ice shelf; the reading seemed to be coming from within the shelf." Richard turned back to face the men. "After close to an hour of repeated attempts to use sonar and EMF readings to try and detect some type of a power source within the shelf, a triple-E.T. was called out to investigate."  
  
"A triple-E.T.?" one of the men interjected.  
  
"Yes," Richard explained, "an Extreme Environment Excavation Team."  
  
"They arrived about one-thirty that afternoon," Richard continued, "in a military ice-breaker, a ship fitted to transport men and equipment over ice. After about five hours, they were able to make their way down into the shelf far enough to extract this."   
  
Richard gestured to the transparency image on the well behind him.  
  
"It's a nine-by-nine-by-nine block of ice which appears to have a human male incased in it."  
  
He stepped over to the image on the wall and began pointing out various locations in the ice.  
  
"You can make out the man's head and face and right shoulder here from this view."  
  
"Now," Richard returned to the table, "normally this type of event wouldn't have been much of an interest to the FBI, however, considering the location it was found, our director decided he wanted to get the bureau involved. It's not necessarily where in the ice it was found as it is how deep in the ice it was found. Counting how many ice layers deep it was in the polar cap, the water that incased this man froze to ice at least thirty-thousand years ago."   
  
Richard paused for effect.  
  
"Thirty-thousand?" one of the men ask incredulously. Richard had recognized this man when he had first entered the room. It was, Ernest Hartwell, head of internal affairs for the FBI and a good friend of their director.  
  
"Yes," Richard answered, "at least."  
  
Another pause for effect, Richard wondered if he was being overly dramatic.  
  
"As you can imagine, this is quite a find. Before this, the oldest intact remains ever found were just under fifteen thousand years old, and they were definitely not as well preserved as our find here."  
  
Richard reached over and removed the transparency from the projector and replaced it with another from his manila folder. The image displayed was of a man, wet and fully dressed in a pair of loose pants and a burgundy red tunic. He looked to be lying on a steel examining table.  
  
"The block of ice was transported to our facility here under Langley where the ice was slowly thawed and we were eventually able to extract the remains. As you can see, the body is perfectly intact and the clothes are still very whole though require delicate handling. Now, using carbon dating, we've been able to date his clothes. First, let me assure you that the results were double checked and the triple checked by several different technicians. All came out with the same results."  
  
Richard paused, hesitant to state his findings. He was afraid that if he was wrong about a find of this magnitude, his job would not be the only thing he'd loose.  
  
"What were the results?" One of this audience asked.   
  
He believed this gentleman was Sam Brighton, advisor to the president. Richard didn't feel anymore at ease.  
  
"Well," he finally began, "according to the techs, there were only trace amounts of C14 left in the material, making it almost impossible to date. Eh, C14 is the carbon used in carbon dating. Its half-life is somewhere around fifty-thousand years, so the material is definitely older than that. By the amount of degradation, some techs believed it was at least sixty-thousand."  
  
"Wait a minute," interjected the only man in the room Richard didn't recognize. He was a tall man, kind of thin and gaunt looking. His eyes, however, didn't waver and had a confidence that made Richard uneasy.  
  
"You're saying that the clothes this man was wearing," continued the unknown attendee, "dated to be over fifty-thousand years old?"  
  
Richard returned the gentlemen's gaze. "Yes, sir."  
  
"But he was frozen only thirty-thousand years ago?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"So this man wore the same clothes for over twenty-thousand years?"  
  
Richard was stumped, he hadn't thought of that. Flashes of him being found dead in his bathtub, raced through his mind.  
  
"Uh, well, it appears that way," he stumbled.  
  
The gentlemen scowled, obviously not satisfied with the answer. Richard coughed and glanced down at his folder of transparencies, trying to regain his confidence.   
  
"Uh, what's possibly more interesting, however," Richard continued, "is the quality of the clothing itself. As, I said, it requires delicate handling as the fibers are quite old and fragile, but from a few pieces we extracted and examined, the stitching on the clothing is close to the quality you find today with machine stitching. Very fine, strong fibers weaved together in a very precise and close knit. The style is obviously different as the fibers used came from a material like hemp but further analysis showed that the plant definitely was not hemp."  
  
"What about the body?" the presidents advisor spoke up, "Was he dated to the same time as the clothing?"  
  
Richard was hoping to get to those types of answers closer to the end.  
  
"Well, we ran the body through an MRI and a few x-rays. From the dental images, we believe the man was no more twenty-five when he was frozen, most likely a few years younger. MRIs show that he was in good health when he was frozen and that all his internal organs are still intact."  
  
"X-rays and MRIs?" again it was the unknown gentlemen. "No carbon dating was done on the corpse?"  
  
Richard coughed as he reached up and pushed his thin glasses up the bridge of his nose, a nervous reaction. Though it was in no way his fault that a carbon dating was not done, Richard felt that the fact that a more thorough examination of the body was not possible was his failure as a project leader.   
  
"Well, we attempted a carbon dating, but had a hard time extracting a sample from the remains." Richard's eyes dropped to the table. "In fact, we've had an extremely difficult time penetrating the remains in any fashion." He raised his eyes back up to meet their gaze. "It seems that the body is impervious to harm. We've tried puncturing him, burning him, laser scalpels, carbon scalpels…we even tried deep freezing parts of his hair in hopes of breaking strands off. Nothing seems to work. His body is also rigid and quite stiff. It takes the effort of two to position his limbs and we can't seem to open his mouth."  
  
"Can't open his mouth?" The gentlemen's gaze seems to be getting harder by the minute.  
  
"Yes, sir. We've even had one of the guards attempt it. A stout young man named Daryl, big guy. He and a few of our technicians tried prying his jaw open to no luck. We even attempted to wedge the, uh, wedge end of a hammer in between his teeth but couldn't get it in past the lips."  
  
The gentleman again scowled and sat back in his chair.  
  
"Most of the physicians believe it is some form of rigimortis and his jaw must have fussed to his skull. Without the access to perform an autopsy, however, there is no way to be sure. As far as our difficulty to harm the remains, no one has given a plausible possibility, yet."  
  
Richard felt that the briefing was heading down hill fast.  
  
"All the information we've got on him as come only from the x-rays and the MRIs. Everything we have shows that the remains are not a day over twenty-five or so. Many of the physicians have stated that it is uncanny how preserved the remains are. Even incased in ice, cellular decomposition should have progress quite a bit in the time he has been entombed."  
  
Remembering something, Richards's voice picked up, happy to report any type of findings available.  
  
"We did, however, discover the remains of cells under his finger-nails. These cells were easily removed and didn't give us the same trouble as the rest of his remains did, most likely because they are not cells from his body. When tested, the cells dated off the chart which is again past the fifty-thousand year mark. This additional evidence of a time period greater than that found in the ice suggests that the method of dating the age of ice in the polar cap by counting its layers may get quite a bit less accurate the deeper you go."  
  
"What type of cells were these?" Presidential advisor Brighton, again.  
  
"Uh, human, sir. Human skin cells, they believe, but it's difficult to tell with the extreme decomposition."  
  
"Have you found any trace of the EMP that the Dallas detected?" This time it was Ernest Hartwell, leaning forward in his seat.  
  
"Ah, yes." Richard answered. He then slipped the current transparency off the projector and replaced it with another.   
  
It was the picture of a long dagger, shot of its length from over head. The dagger seemed to be sitting on a similar metal table from the previous image. The dagger's blade was long and curved. On the outside curve was the sharpened end, running the length from the hilt to the blades tip. The inside curve had a series of small, wickedly curved, jagged points. These points diminished in size the closer they were to the hilt. The hilt was formed of several overlapping horns of gold whose curves faced the blade while their ends pointed toward the pommel. The handle looked to be made of wood and was carved in a scale like pattern down its length. Finally, the pommel was a crown-looking cap on the end of the handle, also made in gold. Across the flat portion of the blade was engraved an interconnecting series of small, angular symbols.  
  
Next to the dagger had been set a foot-long wooden ruler. The ruler had no doubt been added to give the viewers a sense of the daggers size. The dagger looked be about an inch longer than the ruler's twelve inches. Lastly, several sharp cuts and scraps could be seen in the table around the dagger, contrasting greatly with the blade's flawless surface.  
  
Richard appraised the picture for a moment then turned back to the men at the end of the table.  
  
"This item was found with the remains. Its composition is as shown. The blade is made of steel, the hilt its gold, the handle is a carved wood which should have petrified by now but looks to be freshly inlaid, and the pommel is also of gold."  
  
A small chuckled escaped his lips, his next statements sounded familiar to him and he was beginning to feel helpless.  
  
"The blade also seems impervious to damage. We doubt that the hilt and pommel are solid gold, most likely platted, but we don't seem to be able to crack or cut it to see what lies beneath. The blade is believed to be made of a steel that would cost thousands to duplicate today. Steel is a compound material, it's created by fusing several types of metal together, a process that definitely wasn't available over fifty-thousand years ago. About forty-thousand years before the Bronze Age."  
  
"The blade is also incredibly sharp, as you can see by the nicks in the table created just by glancing the blade off the table as it was set down." Richard walked up to the image and pointed out the damaged areas of the examining table. He then turned back to the men.  
  
"We've been able to cut through steel, concrete, titanium, Kevlar, wood, and any other surface we've tried as easily as waving it through the air."  
  
Slightly ashamed of his next confession, Richard's eyes drop to the table.   
  
"We also know that it makes easy work of bone as one of our technicians had the bad luck to slip while carrying the dagger to another table. He dropped the dagger onto his forearm. The blade passed straight through his arm and then landed hilt-deep into the floor with almost no sound. We were able to re-attach his fore arm to the technician's body. Uh, a Mr. Chang I believe. This was only possible since the knife cut through his arm more precisely then a laser scalpel could."  
  
"Interesting," stated the still unknown gentlemen.  
  
Richard's eyes shot up to meet his. The gentleman calmly watched him, apparently very interested in any further info on the dagger.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Chang hopefully will have full mobility of his arm after a few months of healing."  
  
Ernest leaned forward in his chair again. "How does this connect with the EMP Dallas found?"  
  
"Ah!" Richard exclaimed, glancing back at the image on the wall and then turning quickly back to the men at the table.  
  
"According to our readings," he began, "the dagger itself is the source of the EMP. We're not certain how as there is not a detectable power source, but all of our electro-static equipment can detect a strong EMP emanating from the dagger."  
  
"And the glyphs?"  
  
"Yes, we've tried having them deciphered, but none of the linguists or cryptologists currently on staff have had any luck. I've appointed a few field agents to locate a Dr. Sorensen of Columbia University who has considerable experience with ancient texts and has been able to help us before on occasion. "  
  
Richard lowered his gaze to his manila folder and the single transparency remaining.  
  
"The last bit of info may be harder to swallow as I can't show you any images as proof. You'd have to come down to the lab if you wanted to see for yourself."  
  
Richard looked back up to meet the men's confused expressions.  
  
"What these images here don't show is that, with the naked eye, the body seems to have symbols written on his flesh. Also, these symbols seem to glow. There is one located on his forehead, another over his heart, and third on his right palm, and a fourth on the back of his right hand. Now, any who view the body see the symbols and describe them the same, however when ever we attempt to take a picture of them, nothing can be seen on the resulting image. Any equipment we use to try and read the light level or the radiation emitting from the symbols detects nothing. No instruments can prove or even detect the existence of these symbols. Best we can do is this drawing here."  
  
Richard replaced the dagger image with his last transparency. The picture looked like a pen drawing out of a biology text book depicting the front view of a human male in a standing position with his arms at his sides. Next to that drawing, was two other drawings of a similar type showing the front and back of the right hand.   
  
On the full-body drawings fore-head was drawn an angular symbol similar to those found on the previous image of the blade. The symbol looked like a letter 'X' with its upper angles closed making a pointed and flat-topped figure-eight. Through the center of the figure-eight was what looked like the capital letter "I" turned on it side and place so that it's bisected at its middle. On the drawings torso, just left of the center, was a large drawing of a circle.  
  
In the center of the drawing of the right palm was an angular symbol which vaguely resembled the letter "G" but also includes several intersecting lines in various angles. The drawing of the back of the same hand showed a similar angular symbol.  
  
"Shown here," Richard directed, waving his arm at the images, "are the symbols drawn as they are seen and where on the body they are found. As I stated, they seem to glow a multi-colored light to all that view them. Again, none of the linguists or cryptologists on staff have any idea what they might mean. Hopefully Dr. Sorensen can assist us with that once he arrives."  
  
Richard glanced back at the image on the wall behind him then looked back down the table at the shadowed men.  
  
"And that is all we have at the moment. We're still working on the body and trying to find a way to get a sample we can run a more comprehensive test on. The blade is about the same and as soon as Dr. Sorensen arrives, which I was informed should be within and hour or two, we'll have him start on the glyphs on the blade and body. For the time being, the remains are being kept in our lab below, suspended in a solution to prevent decomposition."  
  
Looking away from the man before he caught any glances of disappointment, Richard collected his transparencies and returned them to his folder which his picked up. Richard looked up in time to see Ernest Hartwell and Sam Brighton exit the room through the door to his right and quietly close the door behind them. Confused, Richard looked over at the far end of the table. He found the unknown gentlemen standing a few feet from him. Richard realized that the gentleman wasn't as tall as he first believed. He looked to be at least a foot shorter than Richard but his presence had an authority to it that Richard couldn't explain.  
  
He stood with his hands locked behind him and a small smile on his face. If Richard didn't know any better, he could have sworn that the man was trying to be personable.  
  
"Interesting, isn't it?" The gentlemen stated while nodding towards the folder in Richard's hand.  
  
"Uh, yes, quite," Richard stammered.  
  
"Has anyone seen this report outside your team?"  
  
"No, not yet. Dr. Sorensen will be the first, once he arrives. Besides you three, of course." The questions were making Richard nervous. These types of questions were never good.  
  
"Call your field agents; tell them to forget about the good Doctor."  
  
"Who are you? I'm not prepared to take instructions from an agent I'm not familiar with." Richard responded a little defensively, but the pompousness of the man's order put him on edge.  
  
The gentleman smirked; it was a devilish thing, if Richard ever saw one.  
  
"My name is Jerry and I assure you, your director will collaborate with any suggestion I might have."  
  
That didn't help much. Richard shifted on his feet.  
  
"We need Dr. Sorensen to help us translate the glyphs. He's the best shot we have at the moment," he protested.  
  
"I've got a better lead," Jerry stated. "I can guarantee that he will be able to lets us know everything we need to know. What I need from you is to retrieve the dagger so you can meet him."  
  
"You mean off the facilities?" Richard didn't like this the further the conversation went. "It would take several days to get the approval for that."  
  
"Don't worry about the approval," Jerry responding, all too confident. "You shouldn't have too much trouble. Do you have a cell phone?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Give me the number, I'll have my lead call you when he's ready. It shouldn't be long, just a few hours."  
  
Hesitating for a moment, Richard finally gave Jerry the number to his mobile phone.  
  
"Good, we'll talk again after you find out more about the dagger."  
  
Jerry placed his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and made for the door. Stopping short of the exit, he turned back toward Richard who was still frozen at the end of the table by the projector.   
  
"Also," Jerry spoke, "don't tell the rest of your team about this meeting or any you might have with my lead. Let's keep the discussion out of it until we have more info."  
  
This all sounded very bad. He either didn't want Richard talking about it because of sensitive nature of the project or he didn't want to have to mop up too much if he had to make the whole thing disappear. Richard still had no idea who this Jerry was or even if his claim that he had the support of the FBI director was true.  
  
"I don't like this," Jerry admitted. "This is all too much 'X-Files' for me."  
  
Jerry chuckled, a hollow, life-less sound. "The fact is, Richard, that you're not going to get anywhere on this project without my help. You can refuse me, but if you do, that corpse you have down stairs will reveal nothing but mysteries to you." Another chuckle, it shook his shoulders. "I can assure you that Dr. Sorensen will be of no help to you."  
  
Richard said nothing as he stared back at the self-confident smirk on Jerry's face. He felt cornered, as Jerry no doubt intended.  
  
"I see," Richard responded. "Well, then, I'll be waiting for the call from your lead."  
  
A broad smile stretched across Jerry's lips. "Good. Glad to hear it."   
  
He then left, leaving a chill in the air behind him.  
  
  
A call to the director's office confirmed Richard's fears, Jerry was telling the truth.   
  
"Follow Mr. Jerry's instructions implicitly. He has the full authority of the Director of the FBI behind him." Those had been the words directly from the director's assistant. Richard had sullenly hung up the phone.  
  
Why was he so against working under Jerry? Richard had worked under the instructions of government contracted help before. The man just set his teeth on edge. Richard concluded that he was just being overly paranoid. After all, this was an unprecedented discovery and Richard had grown slightly afraid that Jerry might try and steal the recognition that Richard felt he and his team deserved.  
  
Still, the fact that Jerry didn't even seem to have a last name irked Richard. Even the director's office had referred to him as "Mr. Jerry."  
  
Making his way out of his office and down winding turns through the hallways of the lab, Richard soon arrived at the elevator into the subterranean levels of the facilities. Submitting to both the palm and the retinal scan, the elevator soon announced its arrival with the opening of the doors. Deeply engrossed in the files of a report from one of his team members, Richard stepped to the back of the elevator without glancing inside. Reaching to the side of the door and selecting the button for the level his team was working on, Richard heard the shuffling of feet next to him and looked up to notice another occupant in the elevator.   
  
"Oh, Jerold." Richard recognized one of the lab technicians from his team.  
  
Jerold had joined the bureau just a few months ago and just out of college. Barely twenty-one, Jerold was young and eager to please. Though Richard knew he wasn't prejudice, he was always distinctly aware that Jerold was black. Richard had no professional problems with Jerold, the boy was a good worker and certainly knew his stuff, but Richard just couldn't make the same friendly connection that he did with the rest of his team. Richard just figured it was one of those silent cultural barriers that he'd never get through.  
  
"Mr. Bateman," Jerold acknowledged.  
  
The elevator doors slid closed and with a shudder, they began the decent into the ground.  
  
"Anything new from our frozen friend downstairs?" Richard asked, mostly trying to make conversation. He had returned to scanning over the report in his hands.  
  
"No, not really," Jerold answered. "Actually, I was just coming up to see you. A few of us are going to take a break and go get some drinks. Nancy thought we should see if you wanted to join us since you've been working harder than the rest of us and could probably use a break. You know, unwind a bit."  
  
Richard smiled lightly. Actually, the thought of leaving a getting a few hours of sleep was definitely on his mind, he hadn't slept since the remains arrived yesterday.  
  
"I'd love to, but there is too much info to sort through right now. I'll probably catch an hour or two on the couch in the break room downstairs."  
  
Jerold shrugged. "Your choice."  
  
The ride ended quietly and both Richard and Jerold exited into different areas of the lab. Richard slowly took the long way through the hallways to the storage room where the remains were being kept. Though he knew that he had full authority to remove the dagger to any location necessary, he still felt like he was stealing and hoped that no one would be with the remains when he arrived.   
  
Eventually coming to the double doors of the storage room, Richard was again subjected to a palm and a retinal scan. After the security system cleared him for entry, the door clicked with the lock release and Richard push through the doors into the room.   
  
The large room was dark and cool. Along the wall to the Richard's left was an array of equipment, each with its own singular sounds and blinking lights. He wasn't sure what function each piece performed, but he was the project leader not a lab technician. Turning to his right upon entering the room, Richard was confronted with a large tank of bubbling liquid which sat in the center of its side of the room. The tank sat on a hydraulic lift for the easy transport of its great weight since its height reached almost to the ceiling. Suspended in the center of the tank were the naked remains of their mystery man.  
  
The body of the man was tall; he had measured to be almost six and a half-foot. He also looked to be in good physical condition. His muscle tone was defined in his chest, abs, arms and legs. If he didn't know any better, Richard would have sworn that the man had a personal trainer. His face was angular and looked to be made of stone. Even in the relaxed expression of his dead face, the man's brow looked clenched and angry. The man's shoulder length, jet black hair swirled behind his head in the bubbles of the tank, giving an uncomforting animation to the rest of his dead form. Over all, the body was not unhandsome, even Nancy had mention after they had first defrosted him that, had he been alive, she would consider dating him. The comment had brought a laugh from the rest of the present team, but no one disagreed.  
  
Beyond all of that, though, the most unnerving part of the visage was the shinning symbols found engraved in his flesh. They glowed brightly from his forehead, chest, and right hand. Their light was soft and swirling, like a rainbow of colors trapped in the lines cut through his skin. What was even more eerie was that, even submerged in the liquid of the tank, the glow did not refract. The light streamed from his skin and directly into Richards eyes as if the man were standing out of the tank and directly in front of him. This had been another unexplained find.  
  
"One of many," Richard though as he stared at the mystery before him.  
  
Finally shaking his head and pulling his eyes from the remains, Richard looked about for the item he had come for, the dagger.   
  
He didn't see it.  
  
It should have been placed on the table next to the tank but Richard had found nothing there. Looking around the room, Richard began an almost frantic search for the blade. Panic began to well up in him, the last thing he needed was for part of the most significant find in a century to be lost.  
  
Richard made a quick search through the equipment and around behind the tank, still nothing. He was about to reach for the security phone on the wall and report the dagger missing, when the lock on the entrance clicked open and the doors swung inward.   
  
It was Nancy, white coat, blonde hair, glasses and all. In front of her, held carefully in her hands was the dagger. Richard released a gasp of air in relief.   
  
"I thought it had vanished. I was about to call security." He stated in exasperation.  
  
Nancy smirked. "Sorry, Tom and I took it." Tom was another tech on the team. "Considering how dangerous it is, we decided to try and to place a covering of some type over the blade." Her voice dropped a bit. "Especially after what happened to Tam?"  
  
The Mr. Chang Richard had mentioned to Jerry and his audience. Richard shuddered at the thought of the blade passing through his own forearm like a hot knife through butter. He had been one of the first to enter the lab after Tam had the accident. Only Samuel had gotten their before him and he had been kneeling down before the shocked and motionless Tam. Sam had been picking up Tams bloody left forearm off the floor.  
  
"Yeah." Richard answered, pushing the memory from his mind.  
  
"We tried to coat the blade in a rubber sheath, but once the rubber dried, we tried picking the dagger up and walking across the room with it. Even the small amount of friction between the rubber coating and the blade was enough for the metal to slice right through. Tom then thought of attaching something to the hilt that covered the blade but didn't touch it. He then made this."  
  
Nancy presented the dagger out to Richard. A thin plastic sheath had been fashioned over the blade. The open end of the sheath clasped onto the gold hilt with metal clamps and the rest of the plastic completely covered the blade but did not touch it, giving a good inch of breadth away from the blades edge.  
  
"Good thinking." Richard stated. "You guys did a good job."  
  
He reached out and retrieved the dagger by the handle from Nancy's hands. Gently pushing on the plastic, Richard found it to be tight and secure.   
  
"What did you need it for?"  
  
"What?" Richard glanced up from the dagger towards Nancy.  
  
"The dagger, what did you need it for?" she repeated.  
  
"Oh." Richard frowned again at the thought of Jerry and his 'lead'.   
  
"Apparently the director has assigned some outside help to our effort to assist us in discovering our friend's origin." Richard's voice was dripping with loathing.   
  
He took a breath to calm himself.  
  
"Anyhow, they've asked that I take the dagger off site to someone who might be able to translate the glyphs."  
  
"Glyphs?" Nancy asked, confused that the term.  
  
"Oh, sorry. The symbols. "  
  
"What about Dr. Sorensen. You mentioned that you had sent for him." Nancy seemed to be making small talk. Richard had noticed this from her in the last few months.  
  
"Mr. Jerry, our outside contractor, instructed me to tell him to go home." Richard was staring down at the blade in his hands, again. The icy cold of the wooden handle made the scaled texture feel alive in his hand.   
  
"Ah." Nancy spoke, seemingly trying to fill the void of silence. Only the muffled bubbling of the tank beside them could be heard.  
  
After a few long moments of Richard staring at the dagger, Nancy again spoke up.  
  
"Well, I still have a few more layers of ice to run a composition check on, so I better get going. We were going to step out for some drinks in a few, care to join us?"  
  
Richard had all but forgotten she was in the room. He broke his gaze from the dagger and looked up at her.  
  
"Uh, no." he responded. "I've got to take this to Jerry's lead."  
  
"Oh, alright." She seemed disappointed.  
  
With that, she walked from the room and out into the hallway, the security doors clicking locked behind her.  
  
  
The phone call had come almost an hour later. Richard had left the underground compound quickly since there was no cellular signal downstairs. He returned to his office in the upper levels and began sorting through the stacks of reports on his cluttered desk. He had laid the dagger on his desk next to him, but he became continually distracted by the blade and had eventually placed it in one of the drawers. Sooner than Richard's busy mind had expected, his cell phone chirped on his desk. Richard quickly answered.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mr. Bateman?" The voice was female, thick, and Slavic. It also seemed more of a statement than a question.  
  
"Yes." Richard responded.  
  
"I've arrived in town and would like to meet you soon. Are you available?" The voice was young and Richard found it faintly alluring.  
  
"Yes, of course. Where are you staying? I'd be happy to meet you there as soon as possible." Richard realized after speaking that his words were slightly forward and that she might take offense.  
  
She didn't, however, and told him the name of the hotel she was staying at as well as the number of the room she occupied. Richard recognized the name. It wasn't the closest, but it should only take him a few minutes to make it there.  
  
"Be sure to bring the knife with you, Mr. Bateman. I am very interested in helping you." She then hung up the phone and clicked off the line.  
  
Richard stopped the call on his cell and placed the phone in the pocket of his slacks. Once again, Richard felt unnerved about this meeting. He felt like he was being manipulated. Richard then realized that he had never gotten the woman's name. He did have her room number, however, so finding her shouldn't be too difficult.  
  
He then stood and retrieved the dagger from the desk drawer. The handle was still icy cold to the touch and seemed to squirm in his palm. He placed the dagger in a brown bag, one of the many left over from his lunches, and then grabbed his keys from the desk. Richard then left his office, forgetting to shut off the light, and made his way down the hallways to the buildings garage exit. 


	2. Of sunny dales and backstabing

The trip was relatively short. It was after sun down, though the crimson rays of the setting sun still shown brightly over the nearby hills. A bank of clouds had been moving in from the east all afternoon and was now beginning to settle in the sky above him. Traffic was light and after about twenty minutes of driving Richard pulled up in front of the hotel where his lead was staying. It was an economy hotel, nothing too fancy, but probably had the only rooms available on such short notice. Richard entered through the front doors and moved directly toward the front desk across from the entrance. Asking for directions to the room number he had gotten in his brief call, the nice uniformed lady behind the counter directed him to an elevator to his left. Once he reached the second floor, Richard began down the warmly lit hallway looking from side to side at each of the doors he past.   
  
Near the end of the hallway, Richard finally spotted his destination. He approached the door and sharply knocked.  
  
No answer.  
  
After a few moments, Richard knocked again, this time a bit more insistent.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
Richard was about head back downstairs to the front desk when he heard the latch on the door release from the inside and saw the knob turn. The door swung inwards into the hotel room and Richard was met with the dark visage of the woman he had spoken to on the phone earlier. The first thing Richard noticed was her hair; it was black as midnight but tied back on her head, its length left in a pony tail extending from the back of her head down past her shoulders. Her face was slim and soft except for her cheek-bones which rose high and round on her face. A soft smile extended between her lips which Richard found pleasant. Her eyes were a sharp green, like flecks of glass from a stained window. She wore some plain blue jeans and a flower covered blouse. Colors of various shades of red and white speckled her most likely silk blouse.  
  
"Come in, Mr. Bateman." She softly spoke, then turned from the door and walked back into her room.   
  
Richard found himself hesitating slightly at her doorway, as if this was some threshold of no-return that he was about to cross. The thought suddenly striking him silly, Richard did his best to relax and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.   
  
"I realized on my way here," he began as he followed her into the room, "that I never did get your name, Ms?"  
  
"Warring," she finished. "Jaclyn Warring." Her voice was still thick and reminded Richard of some of the Russian mafia characters he had seen in many movies lately. She had stopped at the foot of the room's bed. As she stood there, Richard noticed that her feet were bare.  
  
The room was small. The short hallway leading from the door, held a bathroom on its left and a closet on its right. It then opened into a single room with bed on one wall, a dresser with mirror opposite the bed and a small desk in one corner. Across from the hallway into the room was a drawn curtain which no doubt hid a balcony behind it.  
  
"Yes, well," Richard reached into the pocket of his black over-coat, standard issue for all FBI employees, and pulled out the brown bag containing the dagger. "Here is the dagger."  
  
He then extracted the weapon in its plastic sheath from inside the bag and presented it to Jaclyn. Her eyes grew wide at seeing it. Richard rotated the dagger so that the pommel and handle faced her. He noticed her hesitate for a moment then reach up and clasp the handle in her hand.   
  
"It's cold." She whispered.  
  
"Yes," Richard responded, "it always seems to be cold."  
  
She lifted the dagger from his hands and brought it up before her, gazing at the blade. She touched the plastic sheath with the other hand and gently pulled on it.  
  
"Why the plastic covering?" she asked.  
  
"Well," Richard began, a bit nervous with her pulling on the sheath, "the blade is extremely sharp and can pass through the toughest material with ease. We had a small accident earlier this morning and one of my team was, uh, cut quite badly. The sheath was then added as a safety measure."  
  
She continued to appraise the weapon.  
  
"I see." She finally stated. "I'll need to remove it to continue." With that, she reached for the metal clamps holding the plastic to the hilt and unclasped them.  
  
Richard made a small step toward her.  
  
"You should be able to see the symbols through the plastic. I'd rather you didn't remove the sheath unless absolutely necessary." Images of Jaclyn's left forearm on the floor of her hotel room flashed through Richards mind.  
  
She turned her head and smiled at him.   
  
"Don't worry, Mr. Bateman. I'll be careful."  
  
With that, she grasped the end of the plastic and slowly lifted the sheath past the blade. She then stepped backward to the bed and sat down, dagger still held up before her, and set the sheath on the bed next to her. Then, taking the handle in both hands, her eyes slowly slid closed. She drew and released a long breath and calmly sat on the end of the bed, her mouth becoming a bit slack and opening.  
  
For the next few minutes, she sat like this and Richard was beginning to become impatient. Finally becoming frustrated, after all, she wasn't even looking at the symbols with her eyes closed, Richard stepped toward her and was about to take the dagger from her. Just before he reached the blade, her mouth moved and she softly spoke a single word.  
  
"Slay."  
  
"What?" Richard blurted, startled by her sudden speaking.  
  
"Slay." She spoke again, this time a bit clearer. He noticed her accent was missing.  
  
"I will slay," She continued, "and with this blade I will vanquish them all." Each word escaped her lips with more strength and volume than the last.   
  
Richard noticed that the muscles in her neck and face had begun straining. The look of anger slowly began to take hold on her face and the knuckles on her hands were becoming white with the intensity of her grip on the handle.  
  
A wave of fear washed over Richard and he took a step back from her.   
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Her eyes then popped open and Richard saw them glazed over, as if she were looking beyond the dagger in front of her and through the wall on the other side. Sweat began glistening on her forehead and the straining of her muscles soon started her trembling.  
  
"I am the instrument of my own revenge! It was my blood that began the curse and it shall be by my blood and my own hand that I shall rid the world of my wrong doings!"   
  
She was practically shouting and there was an anger in her voice that was fierce and lethal.   
  
Richard wasn't sure exactly what was happening, but he was certain that the blade was the cause. He quickly reached forward and tried to the snatch the dagger from her hand but before he had touched it Jaclyn leaped to the side off the bed and landed out of his reach. She stood crouched, facing him, dagger held threateningly toward him as her eyes of fiery anger focused on him.  
  
"You think you can stop me, Desruca?" The words tore from her throat with seething hate. "Not even the Conclave has that power any longer!"  
  
The hairs on the back of Richard's neck stood on end and he took a step away from her toward the door. Before he could act, Jaclyn leaped toward him with a scream, dagger out stretched toward him. In panic, Richard flattened against the hallway wall away from her attack in time for her to barely miss him and slice through the side of his overcoat. With her continuing momentum, she slammed into the hallway wall beyond him and the dagger buried itself into the wood. Taking the opportunity, Richard pushed his weight toward her and rammed into her side, knocking both of them to the ground and way from the knife. Upon releasing the dagger, it slid down the wall, the blade slicing through the wood under its own weight. Finally reaching the baseboard, the hill struck the wood and blade angled downward until the hilt rested on the floor.  
  
Richard sat on the floor of the hallway, panting with breath, next to the now unconscious Jaclyn. After a moment, he reached over and slid the dagger out of the floor. Standing, he walked over to the bed and picked up the plastic sheath. Carefully, he slid the plastic down over the blade and locked the clasps on to the hilt. He then stuffed the dagger into his coat pocket and then slumped down onto the end of the bed.  
  
He looked over toward the hallway and Jaclyn still lying on the floor.  
  
"What the hell was that?" he finally exclaimed.  
  
After a few moments to catch his wits, Richard stood and walked over to the hallway. He reached down and grasped the still unconscious Jaclyn by her arm and lifted her. He then picked her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed. Richard could feel that she was still breathing as he crossed the room and laid her on the drab comforter.   
  
"Now what?" he thought to himself. He didn't feel obligated to stick around, especially after she had attacked him, but he was still certain that the fault was not hers and somehow the daggers. She hadn't been the first to hold it, however. Richard now believed that this woman had no intention of trying to translate the glyphs on the blade. What she had been doing seemed more like some type of divination. Whatever it was, it had gotten out of her control.  
  
He sat on the end of the bed for a few minutes, wondering exactly what should be his next move. Before he could decide, his cell phone chirped at him from his pocket. Richard jumped at the sound, then sharply reached into his pocket and pulled the device out.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"It's me, Mr. Bateman, Jerry."  
  
Anger grew in Richard; Jerry's continued mystery again irked him.  
  
"Who the hell is this lead you asked me to meet? I gave her the dagger to examine and she attacked me with it!"  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Bateman. She's a seer. I wanted her to tell us the origin of the dagger." His apology seems rehearsed but not surprised.  
  
"A what?" Richard asked, incredulously.  
  
"A seer, Mr. Bateman. She has certain talents that allow her to divine the history of an item."  
  
Richard couldn't believe his ears. Dr. Sorensen had a friggin PHD and had proven on several occasions to be a valuable asset and this Mr. Jerry decided to use this psycho hack instead. One that had put him into danger, no less!  
  
"You mean one of those damn psychics off T.V.?" The contempt was not hidden.  
  
"No, Mr. Bateman. She's not the host of some radio show, she's quite legitimate, I assure you." Jerry's voice was still calm and rehearsed, as if he's had this conversation a time or two before.  
  
"Well, whoever she is she tried to kill me and got damn close!"  
  
"I understand, Mr. Bateman. It sounds as if the dagger was a bit too much for her. I need to meet you immediately. Can you tell me where you are?"  
  
Richard gave him the address and name of the hotel.  
  
"What am I supposed to do with her?" Richard asked. "She fell unconscious on the floor after I got the dagger away from her."  
  
"She should be fine, Mr. Bateman. I'll have a car waiting downstairs for you in a few moments. Just leave her on the bed and come meet me." His answer was curt and the call clicked once he was finished.   
  
Richard pocketed his phone and stood looked about, checking that he wasn't leaving anything. He then checked Jaclyn again to be sure she was still breathing then made for the room's door. He had gotten outside the room and halfway down the hall to the elevator when he stopped.  
  
"Just leave her on the bed and come meet me." Those were the words Jerry had spoken. Richard had never mentioned to Jerry that he had moved her to the bed. Perhaps it was just a logical conclusion on Jerry's part, or even just a suggestion from him.   
  
Richard glanced about him, suddenly feeling quite paranoid. Shaking the feelings off, he continued to the elevator and eventually rode it down to the first floor. As the doors opened and he stepped off, two men stepped past him and into the elevator. They both struck Richard as odd since they both wore black suits of the same type. Before he could take a closer notice of them, however, the elevator doors slid closed.   
  
Exiting the hotel from the front, Richard found a yellow cab waiting on the curb outside the door. Richard looked about for another car and, not seeing another, step up to the rear door of the cab and opened the door. Bending over to step inside, Richard noticed another occupant. He quickly recognized it as Jerry. He sat next to the far door legs crossed and was still in the black slacks and dark grey dress shirt he had been wearing during Richard's briefing this earlier today. Scowling, Richard stepped inside, sat down, and closed the door. Once inside, Richard looked in to the front seat and saw no driver.  
  
"Are you all right, Mr. Bateman?" Jerry asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.  
  
"Yes, fine, thank you." Richard responded a little sharply.  
  
"Again, I'm sorry for what happened upstairs. Had I any idea, I wouldn't have sent you here alone."  
  
Richard relaxed and tried to release his anger.   
  
"It's all right." He stated. "No one was hurt."  
  
"Good. Good." He placed his hands on the knee of his crossed leg. "I've spoken to the director. We both agree that the dagger is too dangerous to leave around here. We need to transport it to a more secure facility where it can be examined under more controlled conditions. We'd like you to take it there."  
  
"Uh, me? If you think it's as dangerous as you say, wouldn't an armed escort be more appropriate?"  
  
"That kind of activity would certainly be noticed. No," Jerry shook his head, "secrecy is our biggest asset right now. It would be best if you took it there yourself, less conspicuous."  
  
Richard was again having that cornered feeling. He was used to taking instruction from his superiors, and travel was often a necessity in his job, but he felt ill-informed and manipulated.  
  
"How is the dagger dangerous? Granted, its damn sharp, but I have a feeling that's not what you mean?"  
  
Jerry chuckled at Richards comment.   
  
"No, no," he answered, "you're right. Richard, why do you think Mrs. Warring attacked you upstairs? Did you feel that she was a violent woman when you met her?"  
  
Richard shook his head. "No, she seemed genuinely interested in helping."  
  
"And she was," Jerry stated. "As I stated earlier, Jaclyn is a seer. She has the ability to discover the history of an item through physical contact."  
  
Richard frowned after hearing Jerry's words. He had been a research agent for several years now and a person ruled by logical thinking for his entire life, belief in the metaphysical didn't last long past its suspension needed for Hollywood movies.  
  
"I understand your skepticism. I would certainly share it if we switched places. However, I don't have time to educate you on the many nuances in our world that live beyond the range of standard belief. You'll just have to trust me."  
  
Richard's frown hung.  
  
"At any rate, what you saw upstairs was something that I had never witness before. I believe that whatever the history of this blade may be, when Mrs. Warring tapped into it, it over-whelmed her."  
  
"How do you know what happened upstairs?" Richard asked, his earlier suspicions being confirmed.  
  
"Yes," Jerry responded, a bit impatiently, "I did have the room wired and everything that happened, I saw."  
  
"So, she was over-whelmed by the psychic connection to the dagger and decided to attack me with it?" Richard was obviously not convinced.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I see," Richard answered sarcastically.  
  
"Well, what's your explanation?" Jerry was still calm; he seemed to have expected this. "You told me yourself she seemed genuinely eager to help. Why then, would she suddenly decide to spout nonsense and try to attack you? She quite a peaceful woman, but what I saw was a very violent change. Even her accent was changed? Can you explain that?"  
  
Richard couldn't. He remembered being utterly shocked at the sudden change when he tried to take the dagger from her. He distinctly remembered the burning in her eyes as she menacingly waved the dagger at him. The look was heated and angry, completely different from the calm gaze that she greeted him with at the door.  
  
"Alright," Richard conceded, "perhaps the dagger did have some type of effect on her, but she's the only one that has been effected. I and my entire team have been in contact with the weapon since we extracted it from the ice and none of us have reacted the same way."  
  
"And I doubt any of you would unless you had made the same type of connection. Frankly, we can't be certain if those which Jaclyn's talents can be affected or not. Perhaps those of you in your team where just lucky, again, we just don't know. That's why the dagger is dangerous, and that's why we need you to transport it. You are obviously not affected and giving it to others to transport would just be risking a different result with every new person who came in contact with it."  
  
Richard was beginning to feel that Jerry's reasoning made sense and the further information from Jerry helped clear some the fog of unknowns.  
  
"Alright, I'll go." Richard felt the words leave painfully. "I suppose you need me to leave as soon as possible."  
  
"Of course," Jerry responded, "we already have a flight picked out for you."  
  
"Well, then, I'll just need to return to my apartment and pack a few items. Where exactly will I be heading?"  
  
Jerry smiled. "Sunnydale," he answered.  
The city of Sunnydale apparently wasn't large enough to have a major airport and instead only offered a small terminal. When Richard's flight finally landed and he stepped down the stairs from the plane, he began to feel weary. The night was almost over and he had gotten no sleep. He checked his watch as be stepped onto the asphalt of the runway and frowned. The sun would be rising soon. Still wearing the same clothes from his meeting with Mrs. Warring and Jerry, Richard made his way toward the terminal doors carrying only a single bag of luggage in his left hand and his briefcase in his right. Inside the nylon luggage on his left, the dagger was held snuggly in its plastic sheath and between a change of clothes.  
  
It has been surprisingly easy to get the dagger through the terminal in Langley and on-board the airliner. Jerry had sent an escort with Richard back to his apartment from the hotel. The man had followed behind him in one of those infamous FBI black trucks on the way to his home and then had waited outside while Richard packed. After packing only essentials, Richard then made his way to the airport with his escort again close behind him. Upon choosing a parking spot somewhere in the vastness of the Langley airports parking lot, the black truck had pulled up next to him. The driver stepped out and introduced himself as Hank. He then handed Richard his ticket and informed him that Richard would not be entering the terminal via the front entrance. Hank then lead Richard in through a side entrance, which was locked via a keypad. Hank quickly punched on the keys and swung the door open. Their entrance was beyond the airport metal detectors and only a few steps away from airport security. Richard had followed Hank into the security office where Hank then spoke in quiet tones with the officer behind the desk. The officer checked something on his desk mounted computer terminal then had asked Richard for identification. After seeing it, the three of them had left the security office and the officer escorted the both of them to a boarding gate on the other side of the terminal. There, the officer had spoken with the gate attendant. Hank had then told Richard that he would be switching planes in Los Angeles but that he should have no problems. After those brief words, Hank simply left, walking off into the airport crowds. The gate attendant then waved Richard into the jet way and onto the plane. Richard's flight to L.A. had been uneventful and his landing and then boarding of the smaller plane bound for Sunnydale almost instantaneous. On both flights, Richard had been to only one sitting in his row so he had kept his luggage and the dagger in the seat next to him.  
  
Now, as he approached the doors into the Sunnydale airport terminal, Richard was amazed at the small amount of time it had taken to make the trip. He stepped through the doors into the terminal and was happy to feel the warm air within. Looking about for the restrooms, he hadn't taken a piss since on the plane from Langley, Richard made his way over to doors to his left marked with the standard male and female stick figures. Before he reached the door, however, he heard someone call his name.  
  
"Mr. Bateman?"  
  
Stopping in his tracks, Richard turned around to face the male voice addressing him.  
  
There were two men, both standing quite close to him. A bit closer than was comfortable, actually. Both wore jeans, one had a black shirt on under a worn leather jacket and the other was wearing a deep blue wool sweater. Each man had brown eyes and jet black hair, their features were so similar, in fact, that Richard suspected they were brothers.  
  
"Mr. Bateman," the one in the sweater repeated. His voice was polite and calm. Their stance was definitely confident and their eyes didn't waver as they stared at Richard. Richard didn't think the two of them looked a day over twenty-one.  
  
"Yes," Richard finally answered.  
  
The man in the sweater grinned broadly. "Ah, good," He spoke. "I'm Art and this is my colleague Darrin. We spoke to Mr. Jerry not too long ago and he asked us to pick you up and escort you in."  
  
"Ah," Richard responded, a bit warily. "I see."  
  
Art looked down at Richard's luggage and then back up at him.  
  
"Is it in there?"  
  
Richard was startled by the question. Since leaving Jerry at the hotel, he had been growing a bit paranoid. He had kept a careful watch over the dagger, keeping it with him at all times. Even to the point of taking it with him into the cramped bathroom stall in the airplane from Langley to Los Angeles. Art's sudden, direct reference to the dagger was unnerving.   
  
Richard glanced about before answering. "Yes," he answered, almost a whisper.  
  
"Good." Art grinned again. "Come with us then, we'll take you right to the facility."  
  
Richard hesitated for a moment. He then stepped forward toward the men, his need to use the restroom forgotten.   
  
Both Art and Darrin fell in behind Richard. They directed him out the nearby side exit from the terminal. The three men then walked into the parking lot and the cool air of the night. Darrin pointed out their car. It was a large, light blue Cadillac with no plates on it. The car looked about ten years old but still in mint condition. Both Art and Darrin stepped into the front seats and Richard slowly climbed into the back seat. The interior was the cars original, a cream colored vinyl, also in mint condition. Richard sat on the right side and drew the belt across his waist. He sat his luggage and brief case in the seat next to him. Art started the car, its engine roared to life with an exuberant thunder, obviously modified in some fashion and definitely not the original. They then smoothly pulled out of the parking space and out a side entrance to the terminal parking lot. The car turned left onto the road and began out toward what looked like to Richard as dense wilderness. In the dark of night, the deep forest seemed quite forbidding and impenetrable.  
  
After about five minutes out along the rood and away from anything that resembled civilization, Darrin turned around in his seat to face Richard, placing his right left arm across the backrest.  
  
"So, found a man in an iceberg at the north pole, eh?"  
  
Richard was a bit stunned. He didn't expect these two to know so much.  
  
"Uh, yes," he stammered.  
  
"And you found that dagger with him?" Darrin nodded down at the luggage sitting next to Richard.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Darrin's questioning was making Richard nervous. For wanting to keep this find a secret, Jerry seemed to be releasing a lot of info.  
  
"That's a damn amazing find. Especially for as old as it's supposed to be. Wouldn't you say, Art?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Art replied from behind the wheel. "Quite amazing."  
  
Art swung the car to the right and off the road. The Cadillac began shaking as it left the pavement and began down a gravel road into the wilderness. The trees hung high over the car blocked the stars light and the night engulfed them. Only the glow of the cars headlights were visible.  
  
Darrin pointed toward the luggage case. "Why don't ya take it out of there doc and let us take a look at it?"   
  
The hairs on the back of Richard's neck stood on end.  
  
"I doubt that would be a very good idea," he stated.  
  
Darrin turned his head toward Art again.  
  
"Ya know, Mr. Jerry said that that dagger could cut through anything!"  
  
"You don't say," Art replied calmly.  
  
"Oh yeah. He said anything." Darrin made a cutting motion with his left hand. "Like wood, plastic, iron, gold…anything!"  
  
Richard watched Darrin closely. The man had a sharp look in his eyes and a playful grin on his face, like a boy tormenting ants. Richard began to feel quite uneasy in the car with these two men as they drove farther into the forest and away from the road.  
  
Darin turned his head back to look at Richard.   
  
"You think it could cut through solid steel," he asked.  
  
Darin reached inside his coat with his right hand drew something out. The light glinted momentarily on its shiny surface as Darin lifted it and brought it to rest on the back of his seat. Richard gasped as he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. Richard had no idea what type of weapon it was, he wasn't a field agent. It was large, however, and Richard was fairly certain that whatever it shot would be enough to blow the back of his head all over the inside of the car.  
  
"What do you think?" Darin asked again.  
  
Richard was planted back against his seat in fear. He glanced over at Art in the seat next to Darrin, the man continued driving and seemed either unaware or uncaring that his colleague was holding Richard at gunpoint.   
  
"I...I..." was all Richard could stammer.  
  
"Why don't you take it out and let us see." Darin again suggested, this time a bit more forceful.  
  
Hands shaking, still looking the gun down its barrel, Richard reached over and grabbed his luggage. Working the locks in front, Richard soon flipped the case open and began searching through the clothes found within. Finally placing his hand on the ever cold handle, Richard drew the dagger and its plastic sheath out from under his clothes and into the light of the car.   
  
Darin's eyes sparkled upon seeing the blade. "Very nice. Give it to me."  
  
Darin stretched his left hand out toward the dagger.   
  
Richard froze. In that moment, he realized why Jerry had sent him with the dagger and not one of his own men. Richard had thought it was strange from the beginning and had been pondering it his whole trip. Now Richard knew why, because Jerry wanted to get rid of him. Obviously, Jerry thought he knew too much. It was clear that once Richard let go of the dagger, he was dead.  
  
When Richard did not move, Darrin's eyes grew angry and his brow clenched. His mouth tensed and he was about to speak, but the car pitched to the left suddenly as it hit something in the road. All three of them were tossed violently to the side. Richard held onto the door next to him to steady himself. Darin, was forced to lower the gun and brace himself on the seat to stop from sliding to the left. In a moment of desperation, Richard grabbed for the handle on the door and swung it open. He then dove from the car.  
  
Fortunately, it wasn't moving too fast after being jostled and Richard landed on his hands and knees. The gravel of the road cut into his palms, but he soon forgot the pain as a shot rung out in the car and glass exploded around him. Richard heard one of the men curse loudly and the car came to a sliding halt. Richard was about to leap up and run into the woods when he saw the dagger lying a few feet from him, its plastic sheath had apparently fallen off and its sharp edge gleamed in the starlight. Not sure why he still cared, Richard grabbed the dagger and took off into the surrounding trees. Another shot rang out behind him and Richard felt the bark of a nearby tree burst.   
  
Richard kept running forward into the trees. Behind him he heard the two men pursuing him through the brush, shouting and occasionally firing. Every shot he heard made him cringe as he expected to be hit. Branches stung his legs and tripped his steps as he ran forward. Bringing the dagger up before him, Richard began cutting at the trees in his way, slicing through them without effort. The cold air stung his lungs as he rasped for each breath. The forest was almost pitch black and Richard hoped he was making his way toward the main road and not into the deep forest.   
  
Suddenly, the trees fell away and Richard burst into a clearing. Before him stood a low iron fence set in a stone base, beyond that lay what looked in the dim starlight as a head stone. The wall didn't stand taller than Richard's waist so he quickly scaled it found himself in what looked like an old cemetery. The wilderness looked to be taking over this area as the grass and weeds all but covered the ground. Dozens of head stones could be seen in rows from where he stood and a shiver ran up Richard's back. The shouts of his pursuers came out from the forest behind him and his fear of dying over took his fear of the dead. Richard continued forward in between the graves.  
  
After a few dozen meters, the thick grass and weeds lessened and Richard was able to pick up his pace. He heard Art and Darrin closer behind him than before, they were definitely catching up to him. Richard rushed forward through the graves, trying to stay low. A shot rang out behind him and he heard the snap of stone as the bullet hit a nearby headstone. Panicked, Richard dove behind a larger tomb, another two shots bursting through the wall next to him as he fell.   
  
Richard's mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do. If he faced them, these men would definitely kill him. Running from them and into the forest was the only option. Richard stood from the wall and was about to race out from behind the tomb and toward the nearest forest edge when Darrin suddenly appeared from around the stone corner next to him. Richard felt a sharp, blinding pain in his head as the butt of Darrin's gun made contact with his forehead. He stumbled back and fell to the ground.  
  
The world wavered around him and a fog blanketed Richard's mind. He tried supporting himself on his arm, but it was roughly kicked out from under him and Richard fell backward onto his shoulders.   
  
"Sonofabitch!" he heard Darrin shouting. "Where the hell did you think you were going?"  
  
"Calm down." Art this time, his voice was still calm.  
  
Richard felt a sharp impact in his side and he curled in pain.  
  
"God damnit!"  
  
"I said, calm down."  
  
Richard's mind began to clear and the fear of his situation flooded back in. The pain in his side began to dull. He still felt the cool of the dagger in his right hand.  
  
"Just take the dagger, kill him, and let's go." Art spoke as if to a child.  
  
"I'll blow his fucking head off!"  
  
Richard felt new pain as someone stepped on his right wrist. He opened his eyes to see Darrin standing over him, the barrel of his gun pointed down at his head.  
  
"Let go, asshole!"  
  
Hopelessness washed over Richard, he realized he was at the mercy of these two men and that it didn't seem like these were the most forgiving people. Richard released the dagger which then slipped from his hand. Darrin was about to bend down to retrieve it when someone shouted out from behind them all.  
  
"Hey! Get the hell out of my cemetery!"  
  
Richard didn't recognize this voice. It was obviously angry, but it seemed to have a slight accent to it. Turning his head and peering back behind Art, Richard's spotted a new figure across the path standing by a headstone. Though Richard's view was upside-down, he could tell that this was a man dressed in black slacks, a grey shirt, and some type of a black overcoat.  
  
Darrin stepped off Richard's wrist and turned to face the new gentlemen.  
  
"Who the hell are you," he asked.  
  
"I'm the man that lives here and you bloody well better get off the land before I feed that gun to you!"  
  
Definitely an accent, Richard thought as he sat up and leaned against the tomb next to him. Definitely a British accent.   
  
The pain in his side prevented him from standing, but from the corrected angle, Richard was able to get a better view of their new friend.  
  
He also seemed rather young, perhaps nineteen or twenty. His hair was dyed blond with brown roots and spiked backwards across his scalp. His face was long with high cheek bones and currently clenched in anger. The man's face seemed quite pale, even in the faint starlight.  
  
"Is that so?" Darin spoke.  
  
He raised the gun towards the man, no doubt intending to shoot. The gentleman leaned toward Darrin and then was suddenly a blur as he rushed forward with incredible speed and snatched the gun right out of Darrin's hand. Startled, both Darrin and Art took a step back. The man then took the gun by the grip and pointed the barrel into Darrin's chest.  
  
"Now, piss off," the gentlemen instructed.  
  
A sneer twisted Darrin's face and he quickly grabbed for the gun and lunged at the gentlemen. Richard watched as both he and Darrin fell to the ground, gun held between them. As the two men fought for the weapon, Art reached under the back of this sweater and pulled out another pistol. This one black, and smaller than Darrin's. He then pointed it at the two men rolling on the grass.  
  
The fight rolled about the ground with Darrin hitting and kicking the gentlemen with his free limbs. The gentleman took the hits easily but was surprisingly not striking back and was instead intent on controlling the gun still held between them. Suddenly a shot fired within the brawl and both Art and Richard jumped. After a moment, both of the men on the ground screamed in pain. They separated, rolling away from each other. Darrin held his left side, his hands covered in blood. The gentlemen rolled away holding his head in both hands and screaming. As soon as the too men separated, Art pointed his pistol at the unidentified man and fired several shots. Each bullet hit and the pale man twitched with the impacts.   
  
Richard, his pains dulled, saw the dagger sitting at his feet. In hope of helping the gentleman who saved him from being killed, Richard lunged for the dagger then twisted around and with all his strength shoved it into the middle of Arts back. The dagger slid in to the hilt with no resistance. It was as if Richard was stabbing at the air. Art gasped in surprise then his gun slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. His body gave a short spasm then toppled forward off the dagger and onto his face. Art then lay there unmoving.  
  
Richard stared down at the Art's body and then at the dagger in his hand. He watched as a single drop of Art's blood ran off the steel of the blade and onto the ground. Richard dropped the dagger to his feet, unbelieving in what he had just done.  
  
Another shot fired and woke Richard from his stunned state. He looked up to see Darrin leaning against a tombstone, his left hand covered in blood and pressing down on the wound in his abdomen. In his right hand he held his gun forward, pointing it at Richard. Apparently, he had missed.  
  
Darrin's face crumpled in a sneer over his anger at missing and he pulled the trigger again. Richard dove to the side in time to dodge the round as it exploded from the barrel of Darrin's gun. From the ground, Richard looked over at Darrin. He was still aiming his gun at Richard and seemed about to fire at him again, a shot that would surely hit. However, before he pulled the trigger, Darrin's eyes glazed over. Slowly, his arm slumped to the ground and dropped the gun. Darrin, too, now lay there propped up against the headstone unmoving.  
  
Richard lay on the ground next to the unmoving Art, his breath heaving out of him. His mind was still working on trying to grasp the reality of what just happened.   
  
Suddenly, a roar rose from off to the right and Richard turned his head to see the gentleman rise to his feet in a shout of anger. He turned to face him and Richard was startled to see that his face had changed. His brow seemed clenched in a horrid almost Cro-Magnon snarl and his eyes had become overcast with a luminescent yellow. The most frightening change was the large canine teeth that hung like fangs from his upper jaw. The horrid face was shouting in anger as he stared before him. Upon seeing both men down and neither moving, however, the snarl dropped from his face. The bulge in his brow, the color of his eyes, and the fangs in his mouth remained.   
  
He looked about a bit confused then saw Richard lying frightened next to Art's body.  
  
"Oh," he said, "good job, then."  
  
The gentleman then moved forward toward him. Richard saw the holes in the man's grey shirt made from Art's bullets, but there was no blood on him and the wounds were non-existent. The gentleman step closer to him. Richard could feel a presence about him, one that was certainly not human. Still shaken from the recent ordeal, Richard quickly stood and backed away from the man's menacing face.   
  
The gentleman stopped and frowned upon seeing Richard's frightened reaction to him.   
  
"Are there any more," he asked finally, his accent quite apparent.  
  
Richard shook his head and began to inch away from the gentleman, meeting the tomb wall behind him with his back.   
  
"I'm not going to bite you," the man said. "I wouldn't have let these bastards shoot me if I could." He pointed down at Art's body.  
  
Richard continued to move away from the gentleman, his nerves still on the edge from his encounter with almost being killed. The man before him frowned again, shrugged and then suddenly lunged forward with a vicious growl. Richard's nerves finally broke and he launched himself off the tomb wall and took off running. He made for the forest as quickly as possible, feeling that in-human figure still right on his heels. Running through a break in the cemetery wall, Richard finally made it in to the forest and the pitch dark of night.  
  
  
  
  
Dropping his vampiric face, Spiked watched the frightened stranger run from him. He chuckled to himself. Granted, the damned chip the Initiative planted in his head stopped him from killing, but simply terrifying them was almost just as fun. After the stranger disappeared into the forest, Spike turned back to the men on the ground. It was quite a mess.  
  
The one in the sweater that his frightened friend had killed lay before him. Spike could see that his blood was running into the grass. At the sight of the blood, Spike's breath quickened. He hadn't fed on humans in a while. It's difficult to get them to die for you when you can't kill them. Crouching next to the corpse, Spike reached down and placed his fingers on the wound in his back. The blood was warm and thick. Bringing his blood soaked fingers to his lips, Spike inhaled a deep breath. His stomach lurched and air erupted from his lungs in a sharp cough. He quickly moved his finger from his face then proceeded to wipe them clean on the corpse. The blood was tainted with something.  
  
Disgusted Spike stood and walked over to the other in the leather jacket. On closer inspection, he found that this corpse's blood was also tainted.   
  
"Damnit!" he shouted in anger, feeling his hunger ache inside of him.  
  
Still upset at being denied dinner, Spike lifted the corpse off the ground and removed the leather jacket. It was black leather, just like his coat and Spike hoped it might be able to buying a pint or two of blood in town. He was again disappointed as he found that the earlier accident with the gun which had cost his assailant his life had also ruined the man's jacket. A large blood soaked bullet hole had been blasted through the leather.   
  
With a snarl he tossed the jacket to the floor. Dejected at the entire experience, Spike turned to leave when a shimmer of metal glinted in the corner of his eye. Looking over toward the corpse in the sweater, Spike saw something metal lying in the brush at the corpse's feet. Spike stepped over behind the corpse and crouched in the grass and weeds. Laying half buried in the ground, Spike found the hilt of an ornate dagger. Grasping the hilt he found the wood cold and its scale-like carving smooth. He lifted the blade from the dirt. It was curved and jagged and looked quite keen. Engraved on the blade where several illegible symbols.  
  
"Well, then," Spike mumbled, "this should be worth a pint or two."  
  
Standing with dagger in his left hand, he lifted his right finger and touched it to the blade edge, testing its sharpness. Upon the slightest pressure, the blade passed into his finger. A small drop of blood dripped from the wound and Spike snatched his hand away from the blade in pain. Once away from the dagger the wound quickly sealed closed and the pain ceased.  
  
"Damn," he commented. He looked down at the corpse next to him. "That must have hurt, eh?"  
  
He kicked the corpse. "Thanks chap."  
  
Spike again turned to leave. Walking away from the corpses, he began to hear a nagging buzz in his head. Ignoring it and continuing forward through the rows of headstones, the buzzing grew louder. Spike stopped to look about, not quite certain any longer that the sound was just in his head. His vampiric eyes saw nothing.  
  
Glancing down that the blade in his left hand, Spike saw it glimmer in the starlight. Suddenly, a feeling of calm washed over him. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but one that he hadn't felt in a long time. The calm settled into serenity. Spike suddenly felt at peace, as if he had been struggling with himself for almost an eternity and finally had become complete. All his life, he had been angry. Even as a mortal, before Angel had found him and Drusilla, Spike had been upset at the world. He couldn't understand why now. It seemed that the world was working as it should, that just living and dying was enough to be complete and that selfish pursuits are what made life unbearable. He had been tricked out of completing that calm cycle of serenity by Angel and now, more than one-hundred years later, he was still angry and upset. Finally, however, he had made his peace with the world and he was ready to end it all. His cycle on this world was complete and all he wanted was the calm peace of oblivion. Feeling that he was finally able to end his own suffering, Spike decided that it was time for him to die. Too bad, Buffy couldn't understand this peace, having been pulled from her own oblivion and back into this world by her selfish friends.   
  
Thoughts of Buffy flooded his mind with images of her. The golden locks and soft smile which he had dreamed about almost daily flashed before his mind's eye. The memory of their recent coupling brought an ache to his chest as he remembered the night they had spent together in the almost demolished house. She had been so abashed and angry the next morning. Of course, that didn't matter now since he was ready to go and would lose her forever.   
  
Loss suddenly welled up and exploded within Spike. His love for Buffy and the pain at the thought of loosing her broke him from his trance. The night and its cool air rushed in around him and he staggered back as his mind returned to the cemetery. Thoughts of peace, serenity, and the sweet oblivion of death quickly melted away. Spike's head was full of fog and his thoughts jumbled. The buzzing sound still lingered in his ears and he felt it pushing and trying to invade his thoughts.  
  
Looking back down at the dagger, he found that at some point he had raised his left hand and brought the blade to his chest. Its pointed was hovering over his heart and he felt the buzzing in his head twinge and flare at the site. The idea of the calm and serenity again washed over him and he suddenly had the inclination to drive the dagger into his heart and end his suffering.   
  
With a panicked gasp, Spike jerked the dagger from his chest and threw it into the grass in front of him. With an almost painful pull, the fog in his head instantly cleared. The thoughts of calm and of killing himself evaporated.  
  
"Bloody hell!"  
  
His body was shivering and his brow pouring sweat. Realizing that he had been just a moment or two from killing himself, Spike's knees grew weak and he leaned on a nearby headstone for support.   
  
His thoughts began to race, trying to uncover what had just happened to him. It was the dagger. That much was certain. It had felt as if something was controlling his thoughts, making him feel the strange unfocused calm. He didn't want to die. Spiked loved his life and loved being a vampire. Despite the fact that the Initiative had all but removed his fangs, Spike was confident that he would somehow get rid of it and one day resume his pillaging and plundering as normal. The buzzing in his ears, which even now continued though dimmed and no longer trying to force its way into his mind, had been the beginning.  
  
"Where the hell did that thing come from," his breath was still running quick and the question came as a rasp from his throat.  
  
As a preternatural creature, a vampire is able to sense, almost smell magic when near to it. Most definitely, they can feel it when touched. Spike, however, had felt nothing from the dagger. It gave off no "scent" nor did it feel out of the ordinary. For Spike, that ruled out magic. Perhaps it was the chip in his head. Spike cursed the damned thing in his skull, as he often did. If this was somehow an Initiative issued weapon, perhaps it was somehow designed to react with his chip if he tried to use the dagger. Spike shook his head. He wasn't certain and doubted that he was smart enough to figure it out on his own.  
  
After a bit of thought, Spike finally decided to take the dagger to the Magic Box and see if Anya had any ideas. He wished that Giles was still in Sunnydale as Spike was certain he would have better luck discovering the dagger's origins. Its not that he doubted Anya's detective abilities, but Xander's little minx was a tad flighty and not all there.  
  
Spike stood up off the headstone. His head was now completely clear and he felt his strength had returned. The buzzing still fluttered in his head, but it was quieter and easily ignored. Spike took a few steps toward where the dagger now lay. As he stepped closer, the buzzing grow louder. Every step toward the dagger the buzzing became stronger and more insistent, pushing its way into his thoughts. Once he had moved to stand over the dagger, finding it buried to the hilt in the base of a headstone, the buzzing in Spike's head almost drowned out all other thoughts. He felt it's prodding into his mind increase to a steady push and it was all he could do to keep it at bay. Crouching to pick up the dagger, its buzzing rose to a deafening crescendo, Spike pulled his right arm into his coat and picked up the dagger with his sleeve.  
  
His forehead was drenched in sweat and he began grinding his teeth. The push of the buzzing in his head was almost unbearable. Spike stood from the ground and began running with the dagger held by the sleeve of his coat. Certain of his course, having taken it on several occasions, Spike moved as fast as possible through the broken cemetery. When he finally entered the forest, the trees blurred past him with the intense speed of his running. Every step was in pain as the buzzing remained unwavering in his head, trying to push into his thoughts. After several minutes, the lights of the town came into view and Spike ran head long as fast as he could through the streets. People and places where only momentary flashed in his vision as he passed them. He vaguely recalled screeching brakes and shouts as he darted unerringly across busy streets. Finally, a good twenty minutes from his crypt at the cemetery, Spike turned onto the street where the Magic Box stood. He felt as if his head were about to split in two. A roaring headache had begun to form behind his eyes and the buzzing had not diminished. His teeth hurt and his brow ached from the clenching of his face.  
  
He reached the door of the Magic Box and found it locked. The lights were out and the store beyond was dark.   
  
"Of course," he spoke. It was still early morning, the sun would be rising in less than and hour and no one would be here for at least three.   
  
Spike became desperate, almost frantic. The buzzing in his head continued and gave him no reason to believe it would be getting weaker. Looking about, Spike grabbed the handle on the shop's front door and gave a quick, sharp push. He heard wood crack and the door moved inward. He swung the door open and rushed into the store. In the cool darkness inside, Spike lurched over to the nearby counter and dropped the dagger next to the old cash register. He then collapsed to the floor. The buzzing died off a bit and its edge subsided. The sound was still painful in his ears and only fueled his throbbing headache. Pushing himself up onto his hands, Spike half crawled for the door. Upon reaching it, he flung it open and fell out the doorway and onto the outside concrete, barely managing to hold on to the door and slam it closed on his way down.  
  
The buzzing was all but gone. It still lingered in the back of his mind but he could now think straight. He lay there on the cool concrete for several minutes catching his breath and trying to regain his composure. Finally, opening his eyes, Spike saw that the sky had grown lighter with the approaching dawn. Spike had little more than half an hour to get underground before the sun rose.   
  
Cursing again, Spike jumped to his feet. The headache induced by the buzzing was still with him and a short wave of nausea washed over him. Walking causally at first, Spike tried to make his way down the streets toward the edge of town. The lighter the sky became, however, the more his pace increased. Finally, reaching the outskirt of Sunnydale, Spike broke into a run. He had only a few moments to reach his cemetery and the safety of his crypt below. 


	3. I thought I saw a frozen guy!

Anya stood outside the door to her shop, The Magic Box. In her arms was a small stack of books and balancing on the books were a few glass jars each containing a different color of what looked like a fine powder. Staring at the entrance to her shop, Anya could see her reflection in the glass. She saw herself standing there in her red sun dress with the load of books and jars in her crossed arms and a puzzled look on her face. Currently, her confusion was focused on the slightly open door in front of her. Trying to recall when she left the night before, Anya was certain she had closed and locked the door. She even remembered dropping the keys when trying the fish them out of her purse while she was carrying a similar load. The event hadn't ended very well, a mess of books on the ground and a small cut on her right palm, but she distinctly remembered locking the door. The thought occurred to her that maybe Xander had come here during the night and forgot to lock the door on his way out. She couldn't imagine why he would have stopped by so late and she didn't recall him getting out of bed at any time. The only other person who has a set of keys was Giles and he had left for England a few weeks ago. If Giles had returned he definitely would have remembered to lock the door on his way out. Unless he was still here, but then the lights would most likely be on. Finally, the idea of an intruder sprung to her mind. She tilted her head, warily trying to peer into the shop through the small opening. If it was an intruder, Anya hoped it was just a normal burglar. The heavens know that they get enough non-human intruders into the Magic Box that the likelihood of it being a normal robbery was remote.  
  
Deciding that she wasn't going to get anywhere standing outside, Anya finally stepped up to the door and nudged it further open with her knee.   
  
More darkness.   
  
With the pile in her arms, Anya knew that she wouldn't be able to reach the light switch until she dropped her items. Pushing the door open even wider, Anya noticed the broken doorframe. This didn't make her feel any better, her hopes that she would find Giles standing behind the counter were dashed with the evidence of a forced entry.   
  
Stepping into the store and past the door, the light from outside dimly illuminated the large front room. Letting her eyes adjust for a moment, Anya made a quick scan about the room and saw nothing that blatantly looked out of place. She stepped farther from the door and made her way slowly over to the table on the other side of the room. After descending the steps past the counter and the register, Anya finally reached the table and quickly set down her books. She then spun around to face the rest of the room, still seeing nothing. She dashed back toward the wall behind the counter and switched on the store lights. The halogen bulbs buzzed and flickered for a moment as the room lit up. She was about to walk into the backroom to check if anything was missing when a glint of steel from the counter caught her eye. Looking at the counter top next to the register, Anya's eyes grew wider and her pulse quickened.  
  
Protruding from the wood of the counter top was the ornate handle and hilt of a weapon. Cautiously stepping closer to the counter, Anya reached out for the dagger's handle. Placing her hand on the scale-textured wood, Anya found it cold as it lightly stung the cut on her palm. Pulling upward, she easily extracted the dagger from the counter top, the weapons jagged blade passing through the wood with no effort. The dagger was nice; Anya certainly thought it would sell for a lot. However, she was more concerned on why she found it in the counter top of her store. Maybe it was some new toy of Buffy's. Thought Anya doubted that Buffy would leave it buried hilt deep in the counter. Anya set the weapon back down on the counter, this time laying it across the top. She then picked up the phone under the counter and proceeded to dial. A female voice answered on the other end and introduced the name of the company for which she worked. Anya didn't pay attention and asked for Xander Harris when the lady finished talking.  
  
"Uh, I believe Mr. Harris is out on site right now. I'll have to transfer you other there and hope someone answers."  
  
"Yes, that's fine. I can wait." Anya was a bit impatient with the lady.   
  
She heard the phone click a few times and then it rang for close to a minute before someone picked up.   
  
"Hello?" A male voice, he sounded a bit annoyed.  
  
Not Xander, Anya thought.  
  
"Is Xander Harris there?" she asked.  
  
"Eh, yeah, hold on."  
  
"Hey, Xander!" Anya heard the male voice scream away from the phone. "Phone for you!"  
  
A few moments later, the phone rustled as someone picked it up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
It was Xander.  
  
"Hey, honey. It's me." Anya's voice was cheery, even if her news wasn't. "I, uh, just got to the store and I think someone broke in."  
  
"What?" Xander sounded shocked.  
  
"I said that I just got to the store-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you." He paused for a moment. "How do you know?"  
  
"Well," she started, "when I got here the door was slightly open and the wood around the door was broken."  
  
"Did you go in?" Xander quickly asked, sounding worried.  
  
"Yeah, I couldn't stand outside."  
  
"Well, did you check the store, was anyone still there?" Xander definitely sounded worried.  
  
"No, I didn't check the whole store, just the front room. Nothing is missing."  
  
"Alright, stay in the front room, I'm coming down there."  
  
"I don't think you have to," Anya stated. "Nothing is missing and I only found this dagger."  
  
"What? What dagger?"  
  
"It's a nice one, actually. Looks kind of medieval but the metal is too pure. And there are symbols on the knife that remind me of some text from early Mesopotamia I once saw, but this is much more angular. Kind of like engineering symbols used on circuit maps, but even more cryptic. And the metal seems real-"  
  
"Sweetie," Xander cut her off, "you can tell me when I get there."  
  
Xander arrived no more than twenty minutes later. His truck pulled up to the front of the store and a moment later he dashed into the door. He then made a quick sweep of the store front. Anya continually pointed out that she had already done a similar search, but he just stated that you can never be too careful. After the front room, Xander checked the back storeroom and then Buffy's training room downstairs also finding no one and nothing out of place. Climbing the stairs from the training room back up to the stores front room, Xander found Anya sitting at the table with a set of open books before her and a jagged dagger sitting next to her. She seemed to be concentrating on the text in one of the books.  
  
"Is this the dagger you found?" Xander asked, walking up to the table.  
  
"Yeah." She answered, still reading.  
  
Xander reached down and picked up the dagger by its handle. The cold stung is fingers.  
  
"Ouch, it's cold."  
  
Anya looked up at him. "Careful, it's really sharp. It seems to cut through things like nothing. It went right through the counter and the register."  
  
"The register?" Xander asked.  
  
"Yeah. The one up on the counter." She turned to point over toward the item.  
  
"Yes, thank you. I know which one you meant. Why did you cut the register?"  
  
She turned back to reading. "Well, it was an accident. I just turned with the dagger in my hand and it went right through it."  
  
Xander scowled and put the dagger back on the table.   
  
"Well, I didn't find anything so I'm not sure why someone would want to break in just the leave a sharp dagger in the counter top." He stated.  
  
"Yeah, I told you."  
  
Xander peered over her shoulder at the text she was currently reading. The book was large and each page held a wealth of words. The text itself was somewhat faded; obviously this was one of the older books they had available in the shop. Currently, however, Anya was looking at a page which had a drawing of what looked like a map. The map was drawn in fragments and had several points drawn as black splotches. There were more than a dozen lines scrawled across the drawn map connecting the points. Anya seemed particularly interested in what looked like a legend in the lower right corner. The text of the legend was cryptic and quite foreign to Xander. He had spent several nights staring into books like this one trying to piece together exactly what type of menace he and his friends might have been facing at the time. However, he had never seen this type of text before. The text looked quite hieroglyphic, each letter or word was represented by a finely drawn symbol. The symbols didn't seem to have any pattern or meaning to the way the lines intersected so there was no way Xander could even guess what they meant. Looking back at the dagger, Xander examined the glyphs drawn on its blade and compared them those in the book. The symbols on the dagger where much more jagged and uniform, each of them taking up only about a half an inch of space on the blade and somewhat hexagon-like in shape.  
  
"They don't look like they match." Xander spoke.  
  
Anya jumped slightly, having forgotten Xander was there and then looked up over her shoulder at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The symbols on the dagger," Xander repeated, "they don't match those on the map thingy there." He pointed down at the fragmented map drawn in the book.  
  
"Oh." Any said, looking down at the dagger. "No, they don't match, but the style is close. See."  
  
She picked up the dagger and swung around to face Xander. He quickly stepped back out of her way, wary of the dagger's blade.  
  
She then began pointing at the symbols drawn on the dagger.  
  
"Usually, when a smith marks a dagger, it's with like a bless to some type of god or maybe the name of the family it will belong to or even certain prayer if it's a ceremonial dagger. The way this text is laid out, though, I don't think it was meant to be any of those. You see, there is no one definable path to these symbols, like a sentence or something. There is just several branches of a few symbols up the blade from this one symbol near the hilt so if there is a sentence or statement here, I can't tell where it begins or ends."  
  
Xander looked down at the dagger and its symbols then back up to toward Anya.  
  
"So, what does that have to do with the symbols on that map?" Xander pointed with his chin at the book on the table behind Anya.  
  
"Oh." She spun her legs around in the chair to again face the table. "Well, like I said when I called you, I thought that these symbols might be a derivative of a culture that lived in early Mesopotamia but now I don't think so."  
  
"Well, yeah. They don't look anything alike."  
  
"But the symbols are in the same style. Like they just made them up cause they have nothing else to work from. Except…" Anya's voice trailed off.  
  
Xander waited a moment, hoping she would finish.  
  
"What?" he finally asked.  
  
"Uh, except, now looking at the two, I think that this Mesopotamian text might be a derivative of whatever text these symbols are."  
  
Xander opened his mouth to ask a question when someone walked in the front door. Both Xander and Anya looked up to see Dawn descending the steps toward them. She was dressed in a familiar pink shirt and blue jeans. She had her small purse over her shoulder which she slumped off and set down on the table.  
  
"Hey, guys." She looked down at the books laid open on the table. "What's up?"  
  
"Shouldn't you be in school?" Xander asked sternly.  
  
Dawn gave Xander an exasperated look. "There doing some teacher conference thing going on at school. So, we don't have to go."  
  
Xander clenched his brow in disbelief, "Uh, huh. Why didn't you say anything before I drove you over there this morning?"  
  
Dawn shrugged. "I forgot."  
  
Xander scowled again, still not convinced. Dawn flashed him and innocent smile and he eventually looked back down at Anya who had given her attention back to the books before her.  
  
"Anyhow, how old are these Mesopotamian guys, Anya?"  
  
"What are you guys doing?" Dawn interjected.  
  
"We think someone broke in last night." Xander's voice was a bit tense. It was obvious he was still upset about the break in.  
  
"Is that what happen to the door?" Dawn pointed back over her shoulder toward the entrance.  
  
"Yep, and they left this." Xander pointed down at the dagger.  
  
Dawn looked down, seeing the weapon for the first time. Her eyes grew wide.  
  
"Cool, can I see it?"  
  
Xander rapidly shook his head. "I don't think so. Way too sharp. Buffy would kill me if you returned home missing your right hand or some other limb."  
  
Dawn dropped her shoulders, obviously disappointed.  
  
"I'm not going to cut myself. We have knives at home; I cut stuff in the kitchen all the time."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Not like this. Just leave it alone."  
  
Xander then bent down and gave Anya a kiss on the cheek.   
  
"I have to get back to work." He said.  
  
Anya mumbled her goodbye as she read. Xander walked past them up the steps toward the door.  
  
"Unless they have some manager conference thing and I can stay home." He spoke on his way out.  
  
Dawn watched Xander leave through the entrance and then heard his truck start and pull off. Looking out the window to her left, she saw him drive by and down the street. Dawn then turned toward Anya.  
  
"Anya, can I see that dagger."  
  
While she continued to read, Anya reached absently to her right and picked up the dagger. She then reached across the table to her left and handed it towards Dawn.  
  
"Okay, if you cut yourself, try not to get the blood on the floor."  
  
Dawn smiled. "Thanks!"  
  
She took the dagger by the handle from Anya. The scale texture on the wooden handle felt nice and warm in her palm. The grip was comfortable and it felt light for having so much metal. She was about to lay the dagger back down on the table when she began hearing this buzzing sound in the back of her head. At first she thought it was the lights overhead, but the sound seemed to be coming from all around her.   
  
"Is there a T.V. in here?" Dawn asked, turning her head to scan around the room.  
  
"No, there's no T.V. in the store." Anya answered, still engrossed in her books.  
  
The sound was barely audible and she felt that she was hearing it in the back of her mind. She wasn't even certain the sound was real and not something her brain was echoing. Dawn looked about for the buzzing's source and absently dropped the dagger on a stack of books on the table. The buzzing stopped. However, it was replaced by a scream from Anya.  
  
"Dawn!"  
  
Dawn reflexively stepped back from the table and quickly looked over at Anya. Anya was staring at the stack of books on which Dawn had dropped the dagger. The dagger's blade was table deep in the stack of books, its hilt resting on the top book.  
  
"Sorry!" Dawn shouted.  
  
Anya half stood from her chair and reached forward. She pulled the dagger out of the books and gently laid it down on the table opposite of Dawn. She then picked up the damaged books and began thumbing through them.   
  
"These books are priceless. You need to be more careful." Anya's voice showed her anger.  
  
"I said I was sorry." Dawn replied, still standing away from the table.  
  
"Well, the dagger was sharp enough to cut the pages cleanly, so no words should have been lost."  
  
Anya finished looking through the book she was holding, set it down and picked up the next damaged one.  
  
"I'm going to walk home." Dawn stated, not feeling comfortable at the shop any longer with Anya angry with her.  
  
"Okay," Anya replied, sounding slightly relieved. "Be careful."  
  
Dawn grabbed her purse and quickly headed up the short stairs and out the door.  
  
Anya watched her leave and wondered briefly if she shouldn't have yelled at the young girl. Quickly dismissing the idea from her head, since Dawn had already left, Anya went back to reading. She spent the next several hours pouring over books and other manuscripts trying to either find an origin of the glyphs on the dagger's blade or, with luck, decipher them. She had little luck however and by the end of her search she was beginning to think that the dagger might not be as valuable as she first thought.  
  
Willow showed up at the Magic Box later that afternoon. She too was wearing a standard pair of blue jeans. She had a nice wool sweater striped with several earth tones. The sleeves on the sweater were a bit too long on her and hung down over the end of her fingers.   
  
Anya was still sitting at the table near the many shelves of books. The pile of books before her had steadily grown over the last few hours and now took up the entire top of the table. She was currently holding the dagger in front of her and before one of the tombs, apparently comparing the dagger to something on the books page.  
  
Willow stepped down to the table and paused for a moment.   
  
"I've got all those books I borrowed last week with me, if you want me to bring them in." She finally asked.  
  
"Oh," Anya spoke, looking up from the page.   
  
"Just put them on the, uh." She pointed down at the table with the dagger in her hand. Noticing that her searching had taken up all the space available, she swung the dagger around and pointed it toward the counter behind her. "Put them on the counter."  
  
Anya then went back to her comparison.  
  
Watching the dagger in Anya's hand, Willow moved around the table to look over her shoulder.  
  
The page Anya was examining was full of lines of scribbled symbols running from the top of the page down. The lines where drawn thin so there were at least two dozen of them compacted across the page.  
  
Looking at the dagger, Willow noticed the engravings on the weapon's blade. She didn't see any resemblance between the glyphs on the blade and those on the page.  
  
"What are you looking up?" she finally asked.  
  
Anya slammed the book closed and roughly placed the dagger on the table.   
  
"I can't find anything on this text on the dagger!" she exclaimed in frustration.  
  
"Where did you get the dagger?" Willow asked.  
  
"What? Oh, I found it in the counter this morning. Someone left it here last night."  
  
"In the counter? You mean someone broke in?" Willow was a bit startled.  
  
"Yeah, last night."  
  
"Did you call the police? Is anything missing?" Willow glanced about the room as if she expected the intruder to be standing behind her.  
  
"No, nothing is missing. Xander came over this morning and we looked around. All I found was this dagger stuck in the counter over there."  
  
Anya presented the dagger to Willow, holding it up toward Willow with her right hand.  
  
"Wow, very spiky." Willow observed.  
  
"Yeah, and it looks almost brand new. I thought it might be something special when I saw these markings on the metal but I can't find a reference to them anywhere."  
  
Willow peered at the dagger and the symbols shown on the base of the blade.  
  
"Maybe its just one of those fantasy dagger things you can buy in magazines."  
  
Anya's brow clenched, confused by Willow's last statement.  
  
"You know." Willow continued, "One of those movie knife thingies."  
  
"Oh," Anya replied, holding the dagger up before her again. "I guess it could be a fake. Which means the writing might not mean anything."   
  
Anya paused a moment, looking the dagger over again. Her eyes popped open again.  
  
"It really sharp, though. You can cut through things really easily. Dawn dropped it on some books and it went right through them."  
  
Willow smiled. "Good, maybe Buffy would like it. She likes the choppy things."  
  
Anya gently set the dagger on the table and stood up.  
  
"I'll help you bring those books in."  
  
Willow and Anya carried all the books in from the pile Willow had made outside. During their work, they ran out of room on the counter, so Anya and Willow worked to clear Anya's earlier mess off the table. When they started on the table, Willow had first taken the dagger and walked downstairs to Buffy's training room. There she placed it on the shelf near Buffy's other weapons.  
  
It wasn't until later that evening that Buffy arrived. She had come for a short work-out before she left to patrol for the night. After saying a brief hello to Anya and Willow upstairs, she descended the stairs in the back of the store to her training room in the basement. The sun had set several hours ago so the room was dark and cool. Buffy switched on the lights as she stepped off the stairs. She was wearing dark blue track pants which had a thin line of white down the outside side of her thighs. On her chest, she was wearing black halter top and she had pulled her dirty blonde hair back into a single tail. She carried with her a bottle of water and a white hand towel. She began her work-out with some cardiovascular work to speed up her heart. Giles had tried to introduce a bit of Tai Chi into her training a few months ago, however the ever-alert slayer had difficulties finding a calm focus. After Giles had decided that it might be best to introduce Tai Chi again in a few years, they had gone back to the normal sparring. With Giles gone, however, Buffy had no one to spar with. She feared to ask her friends as they were unfamiliar with her work-out a she didn't want to hurt them. In Giles's absence, Buffy had come up with a version of "shadow sparing" that seemed to do a decent job of working her heart.  
  
After a few minutes of stretching and getting her blood flowing, Buffy moved over to her weapons cabinet to grab a pair of knives to practice with. She had reached the cabinet and placed her hand on the knives she was looking for when she noticed a new dagger laying on the base of the small cabinet. The dagger looked quite new to her and very well made. However the jagged inside curve of the blade was different from her normal straight edged weapons. She found that she liked the look of the dagger, even if it was different then her standard armament. Lifting the new dagger by its carved wooden handle, she found the weapon was almost weightless in her hands. Beyond that, the handle itself felt warm to the touch, as if it had just been sitting near a fire. The grip was almost perfect for her hands; the wood seemed to form to her fingers as she held it. Swiping the dagger through the air lightly before her, the weapon was lithe in her hand. She turned from the cabinet and walked back to the practicing mat. There she started her normal sparring using the newly found dagger. After a few moments, Buffy found herself gracefully weaving across the mat with the dagger in hand, swiping and jabbing high and low with swift accuracy. She felt almost a connection with the weapon. It was as if each next step and slice with the dagger was a planned dance on which she and the blade had agreed. Without almost any effort, she sprung from position to position on the mat, bringing the dagger down with her in a graceful arc. The speed at which she dove and cut was astonishing to her.   
  
As she continued to dance with the weapon, losing herself more and more to the movements, she began to hear a small buzzing in the back of her head. She had dismissed the sound at first, but it had continued to beckon to her, calling for her attention. Buffy soon began to concentrate on the sound and she found that the more she focused on the buzzing the less it sounded like buzzing. Though first thinking she was mistaken, Buffy began to hear the buzzing more as a melody play within her mind. It was a crystalline chiming in her head and she found the sound soothing. She began to focus upon it deeper and soon the singing was all she felt. Lost to her were the movements of her work-out. Her training room in the basement faded from her thoughts and she saw nothing but a swirling cloud of light in her mind. The cloud continued to grow in definition and depth as the crystalline chiming rang lightly through her head. She felt the cloud of brightness flow through her and penetrate into each of her muscles. She felt its strength and dexterity as it reinforced her own physique. The light began to swirl before her eyes and rushing power of the singing cleansed her of all worry and doubt. She felt free and weightless as if she had left her body behind and now floated through a realm of pure healing light. Then, just as quickly as the light swirled around her, it parted and began to fade from view.   
  
She found herself standing in darkness. Her eyes, which had grown accustomed to the previous light, began adjusting to the thick darkness of her new surroundings. She suddenly felt cold and the surface of her exposed skin shivered. Soon she could make out detail around her and she found that she was in a small empty room. Sounds of electronic equipment buzzed around her an occasional synthesized beep echoed through the room. Then, she began to make out a pale blue glowing shining out before her. As she took a step toward the glow, the light coalesced and took form in front of her. The light shimmered and wavered before her and she quickly realized she was staring into some backlit tank of water. There was a dark shape looming in the water, its form stood tall but blurry and Buffy couldn't find detail in the shape. The more Buffy stared at the dark blur, the tighter the shape became. As the lines and shadows began to converge, Buffy soon realized that the shape was of a man, floating in the bright blue pool of water.   
  
The man's face looked hard and sharply cut, as if chiseled from rock. He didn't seem to be wearing any clothes, and Buffy blushed slightly at his nakedness. As she watched the man, she realized with a slight pang of disappointment that the man was dead. She didn't see his chest moving with breathe and she felt a cold sharpness of old death about him, as if his time had come and gone ages ago. Buffy wondered what the man's name had been. She stood there a few moments, gazing at his face before she motioned to turn and leave. Before she could move, however, a sharp pain grabbed a hold of her spine and she found herself paralyzed. Her arms and legs would not respond to her need to move and her head was locked staring at the man's face. With a blinding glare, a burst of multi-colored light suddenly emerged from the man's forehead. Another then exploded from his chest, just over his heart. Buffy then saw a third light erupt from somewhere below the left of her vision. Still immobile, she could do nothing. The burst of light dimmed slightly and Buffy was able to make out familiar looking systems glowing from the dead man's skin.   
  
Feelings of panic began to well up inside her as she starred forward, helpless to move. The face of the dean man floating before her suddenly clenched in pain and his eyes shot open. A blinding radiance stabbed at her from his eyes and within her mind she heard the eruption a horrid scream. The sound was not her own and came at her form all sides. She felt the wail reverberate through her body and the screeching was deafening and painful. Buffy felt an eons worth of pain and torment in that scream, as if it had been welling up for countless years and only finally released. Fear rushed through Buffy's body and she somehow found strength to close her eyes. She heard her own voice explode from her throat in a scream of panic. Feeling herself and her mind suddenly pull back as if out of a dream, darkness again engulfed her from all sides and her limbs fell slack. The terrible scream echoed into silence. Eyes still held shut, Buffy slumped to the floor. As she hit the floor, she felt the cool canvas of her training mat. Catching her breath for a moment, Buffy finally managed to pry open her eyes lids. Before her, lying on its side on top of the mat was the jagged dagger. To her astonishment, its blade was glowing with an unearthly light, bright and strong in the surrounding darkness. Slowly, though, the light faded until the dagger lay dark before her with only glinting of the dim halogen lights shining in her vision.  
The next thing Buffy realized, she was hearing Willow's frantic voice.  
  
"Buffy? What happened? Are you okay? Buffy? Buffy!"  
  
"What if she's dead?" Anya's voice, sounding slightly worried. "Should I call Giles?"  
  
Buffy groaned, a sharp pain began pounding in between her eyes. She opened her eye lids and the glare of the light above the mat stung. Willow was on her knees over Buffy's head. Buffy turned her head down toward the mat and away from the lights above. Her neck ached.  
  
"Buffy? What happened? We heard you scream?" Willow's asked, still quite worried.  
  
"I'm fine." Buffy grumbled. "Something weird happened while I was training."  
  
"Oh, you found the knife." Anya stated, seeing the dagger on the mat in front of Buffy. "Try not to break it. I think will sell for a lot."  
  
"You're not going to sell it." Buffy said as she pushed herself up on her hands and then sat back on her knees.  
  
"Well, I found it." Anya stated, a little indignant. "And it was in my counter."  
  
"Sorry, Anya." Buffy reached down and picked the dagger up by the handle. "There is something strange about this weapon. Where did you say you found it?"  
  
Anya pointed at the stairs behind her.  
  
"It was in the counter top by the register when I got in. Someone broke in a left it there. I think that means the want me to have it."  
  
"Someone broke in?" Buffy was startled. No one had yet mentioned it to her. "Who was it?"  
  
"We don't know." Willow answered. "They didn't leave a business card or anything."  
  
Buffy stood. "Was anything missing?"  
  
"No." Willow replied. "Nothing missing, they just left that."  
  
"They?"  
  
"Oh, well, I guess it could have been a him...or a her. But them is kinda like the standard when you don't know."  
  
"Right"  
  
"Anyhow," Willow started, "what weird thing happened that made you scream?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Buffy answered, looking down at the weapon in her hand. "When I found the dagger, I started practicing with it. It actually feels real nice and I was having fun when I started hearing this buzzing sound. But it wasn't buzzing, it was this music and then everything started getting bright."  
  
As she was speaking and her attention was on the dagger, she realized that she again began hearing the faint buzzing sound in the back of her mind. She jerked her head up and looked back at her two friends. Once her attention was off the dagger, the buzzing faded.  
  
"Uh," she stammered for a second, "then the light was everywhere and I couldn't see anything else. I felt weightless like I was floating around in a pool. The light then vanished and I saw this naked guy floating in a tank of water."  
  
"Naked?" Anya asked. "Was he cute?"  
  
Willow looked back at Anya and Buffy scowled at the ex-demon.  
  
"What?" she stated, defensively. "Just asking."  
  
"Anyhow," Buffy continued, "he was in this tank of glowing blue liquid. He looked dead. He wasn't breathing. Then he had these glowing symbols in his skin. One on his forehead, one over his heart and I think one on his right arm. I couldn't look at the arm because I was frozen and couldn't move."  
  
"Something was holding you?" Willow asked.  
  
"No, my body just wouldn't move when I tried to move it." Buffy answered.  
  
She then continued.  
  
"Then his eyes opened."  
  
"The dead guys?" Willow interrupted.  
  
"Yeah. His eyes burst open and there was this light glowing out of them. Then I heard a scream in my head. It was like someone being tortured...really bad. I think I screamed and then closed my eyes. Next thing I remember I was laying on the mat and I saw the blade glowing."  
  
"It was glowing?" Anya asked. "How was it glowing?"  
  
"I don't know." Buffy responded, "It was just glowing. Then you two were here."  
  
"Yeah," Willow spoke, "we were sorting books and you screamed. I thought you had maybe kicked something and broke you're foot."  
  
"How could it be glowing?" Anya continued, "There is no magic in it, we checked."  
  
"I don't know." Buffy looked back down at the dagger. "You know, these symbols look kind of like the one on his head. None of these are the same symbol, but they are shaped the same."  
  
"I don't think those symbols mean anything." Anya stated, "I was working on translating them all morning and couldn't find anything on them."  
  
"Well, they can't be too old. The dagger looks almost new."  
  
Buffy looked back down at the dagger.   
  
"Did you have a sheath for this thing? I'd like to keep it with me, just in case." She asked.  
  
"No," Anya answered. "I don't think you can put that blade in a sheath, it would probably cut right trough it."  
  
"Is it that sharp?" Buffy asked, having not actually used the weapon on anything yet.  
  
"Yeah, it cut right through my register."  
  
Buffy walked over to a nearby brick wall. The stones were grey and cool to the touch. With a fairly easy move, Buffy sliced at the wall with the dagger's blade. The metal slid right through the stone without a sound, leaving a thin, precise gash. Buffy heard the buzzing swell up in her head for a moment as she swung the weapon.  
  
"Wow." She stated, looking at the cut in the wall.  
  
"Yeah," Willow agreed, walking up behind her. "There's a nice gash in the table upstairs, too."  
  
Buffy stared at the blade for a moment, turning it in her hand and watching the dim light glint off the flawless steel. The buzzing sound whispered into her mind. She felt the need to use it, the need to thrust and cut at an advesary. She wanted to see the blade covered in blood. The blood of vampires.   
  
Shaking her head, Buffy looked back up at her friends. She then noticed the small window to the outside set high in her training room across from them. Outside she saw the night and remembered her duties as a slayer.  
  
"I've got to get on patrol." Buffy said as she crossed the room and retrieved her white hand towel and bottled water.   
  
"Yeah, I guess we should finish upstairs." Willow agreed.  
  
The three women walked to the stairs and started up into the store above. As they climbed, Willow noticed that Buffy still carried the jagged dagger in her hand. She stopped, Anya almost bumping into her back.  
  
"Uh, are you taking that with you?" Willow asked meekly.   
  
Buffy stopped and slowly turned toward her.   
  
"I...I...I want to try it." Buffy stammered. "I think it might make a good weapon and I want to take it with me and see."  
  
"Well, maybe you should leave it here...since it's all spooky and everything."  
  
"I'll be okay." Buffy assured her, nodding her head.  
  
Buffy then turned and clamored up the rest of the stairs and out into the store. 


	4. She's a maniac, maniac out on patrol!

Bursting past the tree line and into the cool night of the cemetery, Buffy felt the cool grass of the ground snake between her fingers as she landed. Buffy had changed into warmer clothes before leaving to start her patrol. She now wore a pair of dark blue jeans and red shirt. Over her shirt was her normal black jacket. Launching herself forward, she continued running through the rows of headstones, her prey still in sight. As inhumanly fast as the vampire before her was running, Buffy's slayer abilities kept her gaining on him. Every step brought her closer to him and his inevitable future. Finally accepting that fleeing was futile, the vampire stopped in his tracks and spun around to face the slayer.   
  
Her current prey was some unlucky college boy. He was dressed in grey slacks, a red and white plaid shirt, and a dark grey windbreaker. Normally, Buffy tried not to think of the human that was once behind the monstrous mask of her vampiric victims. Those types of thoughts usually made her patrols more depressing. Now, however, she felt invigorated. She couldn't remember the last time she had had so much fun on patrol.   
  
Running up to meet her foolishly stopped prey, Buffy quickly dodged a swipe at her neck. Leaning back, her left leg extended before her and her foot connected squarely with the vampires stomach. Her opponent stumbled back, slightly hunched forward from the blow. Hoping onto her other leg, Buffy again kicked the vampire, this time on his lowered head. The former college freshman's torso whipped back from her kick and he stumbled and fell backward onto the grass. Leaping forward, Buffy landed on the vampire's chest, pinning him down. In her right hand she still held the jagged dagger and she now thrust it downward with all of her strength and stabbed the vampire through his neck, just above the sternum. The dazed creature gurgled with pain as blood ran from the wound and onto the grass. He reached up and clawed at Buffy's hand over the knife hilt. Ignoring his meek attempts, Buffy reached behind her under her jacket for a wooden stake. Before she was able to pull the stake free, she felt a buzzing in her head that quickly rose in volume and almost drowned out the sounds of the struggling vampire below her. The wound around her dagger and in the vampire's neck suddenly began to glow a pale white. The vampire's eyes grew wide and his arms fell limp. A moment later, Buffy heard the familiar sound of dematerialization as the vampire below her turned to dust, clothes and all. Momentarily shocked, Buffy then felt a rushing sensation of power flowing from the dagger up her arm and seemingly into her very soul. The feeling jolted the breath out of her and she fell back onto the grass. Her back arched as the energy spread to every part of her body. A sense of physical pleasure flared alive across her skin and Buffy found herself clawing into the grass floor in an effort to contain her screams. The electricity danced through out her body for several moments then slowly died away. She found herself staring up at the stars, her fingers clutching handfuls of grass and dirt.  
  
Buffy jumped up to her feet. Her breath was still running quick and her eyes shot around wildly. She then spotted the dagger sitting blade deep in the grass where she had stabbed the vampire.  
  
"What the hell was that?" she exclaimed at the weapon.  
  
She had to admit to herself that she liked it. The feeling was oddly reminiscent of an orgasm and she knew she liked those. The feeling also made her crave more kills.   
  
Still staring at the dagger, she then remembered that the vampire had dust before she staked him. The blade had somehow killed him and she knew that she had stabbed him no where near his heart. She reached down toward the grass and pulled the dagger free. The blade was perfectly clean.  
  
A broad smile crept over her face. Wherever this dagger came from, it certainly seemed like a god send to Buffy. Turning her head about, Buffy scanned the cemetery for more undead. Not seeing anything, she broke into a run and headed straight for the trees at the edge of the cemetery park. Once inside the trees, Buffy stopped and crouched low near the ground. She quietly listened to the night around her. As she waited, the now familiar buzzing sound began in the back of her head. She let the sound invade her mind and it quickly rose in volume to the chiming music she had heard before. Crouched in the dirt, Buffy thought about vampires. She hoped to find more...many more. As her mind dwelled on the hunt, Buffy felt the music begin pulling at her. It tugged at her attention and seemed to be pointed deeper into the trees. Standing, Buffy began walking through the trees, following the music's continuing pull. She walked on for quite a while. Close to half an hour, she thought. The pull of the music was constant and never wavered in direction.  
  
She soon arrived back in town. The streets were dark and cold. No one could be seen walking about and, as is normal in Sunnydale, traffic was almost nonexistent after dark. Buffy continued walking up the streets. She was passing through the business districts and by rows upon rows of small shops. Most of the shop windows were dark. Occasionally, Buffy would pass a still open Bar and the sharp waft of sweat and alcohol would waft past her nose.  
  
Still following the incessant pull of the music, Buffy found the music and its pull growing in strength as she followed it. The song had an almost euphoric effect on her and she couldn't think of anything else than the possibility of burying the blade into flesh of another helpless vampire. Eventually, Buffy came to the door of a closed shop. The window was dark and a closed curtain hung behind it. The door looked old and unused. The engraving on the door's glass was all but faded and its white letters where now incoherent. As she passed the shop, the music's pulling angled sharply toward the door. Buffy stopped on the sidewalk outside the shop and listened. She heard nothing. Buffy walked softly up to the shop door and peered in through the glass. Nothing but darkness existed beyond. She placed her hand on the rusty door handle and gently pushed. The door creaked as she applied pressure, but held firmly. Buffy momentarily contemplated the idea of breaking down the door and rushing into the shop. She was certain that some type of evil lurked inside. Reason coming to the slayer, Buffy dismissed the idea and decided to take the alley on the side of the shop and look for a back entrance. The alley lead to a loading area in the back of the store and a single door into the rear of the shop. Three concrete steps rose to the doors base. The door itself was painted green and looked heavy. There was a small portal cut out of the door on its upper half, no doubt allowing the shops inhabitants to see who was at their back door before opening it. Stepping up to the door, Buffy placed her hand on the door handle. The handle was warm to the touch, possibly from recent use. Buffy placed her right ear on the door. At first she heard nothing, but she heard the sound of someone moving on the inside. The music pulled her inside, beyond the door.  
  
Buffy stepped back from the door and knocked.  
  
A moment later, she heard a latch release on the door and the small portal slid to the right. A dim light escaped from the portal for a second and then was obscured as a large face appeared in the hole. Buffy could only see part of the nose and the eyes of the person standing behind the door, but the skin looked to be tinted red and not quite human. The eyes were a pale yellow color and peered down at her. The eyes squinted in confusion for a second then looked about the alley way in which Buffy stood.   
  
The eyes came back to her.  
  
"Uh, what do you want?"  
  
The voice was deep and untrusting.  
  
Buffy smiled and placed her arms behind her waist. She then rocked forward on her toes, her eye wide with a look of innocence. Inside, however, her blood was boiling. The music was continually pulling her toward the door and she felt an itching desire to shove the dagger through the eyes staring down at her.  
  
"Oh, nothing." Buffy was using her best brain dead voice. "I'm just a lonely damsel looking for a great big beast to ravage me."  
  
The eyes squinted down at her again. The person inside turn to his right and glanced as something on the inside of the shop. He then turned back to peer down at Buffy.   
  
"You're the slayer, right?" the voice asked.  
  
Buffy's face looked disappointed as she realized her little ploy to get the door open wouldn't work.  
  
"Yes." She answered, annoyed at being discovered.  
  
"Right." The voice behind the door, agreed.  
  
The portal then slammed shut and she heard yelling on the inside.  
  
"I always have to do this the hard way." Buffy muttered.  
  
She then ran up to the door and kicked near the handle as hard as she could. With a snapping of wood, the door broke inward. Light escaped past her into the alley. Buffy saw a short hallway with doors on either side past the now open door. She stepped forward to enter through the broken door way when one of the doors down the hallway opened. Out stepped what looked like a red-skinned, horned demon in a pressed suit. His slacks were black as was his coat. The undershirt was a dark grey and stretched tight over his large frame. In his hands he carried what looked like a double-barrel shot gun. Both Buffy and the demon froze upon seeing each other. A moment later, the demon was pointing the shotgun down the hallway at Buffy. Buffy, still outside, jumped to the side just in time to dodge the blast. Wood exploded from the broken door still hanging on its hinges. Buffy landed near the building wall to the left of the door. Climbing to her feet, she quickly flattened herself against the wall. Her attention snapped back to the open door, her dagger held high and ready in her right hand as she watched the entrance.  
  
"Go get her!" she heard a voice call out from inside. It sounded like the voice she had spoken to at the door.   
  
"You're watching the door, you get her." Different voice, but similar in pitch. Buffy suspected this was the demon she had just seen with the shotgun.  
  
"You just shot me, you idiot. You've got a gun. Get out there and fucking shoot her!"  
  
Buffy stood watching at the side of the doorway. She heard shuffling inside as someone climbed over the broken ruins of the door.  
  
After a moment, Buffy saw the barrel of the shotgun extending out the door next to her. She waited until she saw the gun's grip and the red skinned hand holding it. Buffy then reached over, grabbed the demon's exposed wrist and heaved him into the alley way with all her might. The demon gave a small yelp of surprise before falling head-long out the door and into the alleyway. He dropped the shotgun as he hit the pavement. Buffy shot away from the wall at him and quickly kicked the demon in the side as he tried to stand. The force of her kick flipped the demon onto his back and knocked the wind out of him. Buffy moved forward to kick him again. This time, however, the demon caught her foot and ankle and threw her to the side. Buffy deftly landed on her feet near the door and watched as the demon stood. He warily watched her for a moment then noticed his shotgun lying on the ground. The demon glanced once more at Buffy then made a leap for his weapon. Buffy brought her right arm with the dagger up and flicked her wrist at the demon. The dagger sped end over end at the creature and with a soundless blow, cut straight through the demon's left shoulder and then into the brick wall several feet behind him. The demon howled in pain and took a step back.  
  
The demon's left arm was hanging by a thread onto the rest of his torso and he crumbled to his knees holding the gaping wound. Buffy, however, was ignoring the now defenseless demon and was instead in a panic about her dagger. She raced across the alley and over to the wall were it had hit. She found a long cut from the daggers point of impact which extended all the way down to the concrete ground. At the base of the wall, Buffy found the dagger lying blade-deep in the concrete. Buffy reached down and pulled the dagger from the rock. Behind her, the now enraged demon stood to his feet and reached his still good arm above his head, his sharply clawed hand open. Before he could strike, Buffy spun around with the dagger in hand and sliced at his neck. The demon stopped where he stood, gave a short twitch and fell to the ground. When he hit the floor, his horned head separated from his body and rolled away.  
  
Buffy watched with satisfaction as the demon's body fell. She then brought her attention back to the broken door into the shop just in time to see a second similarly dressed demon standing in the doorway. In his right hand he held a large pistol pointed at Buffy's torso. Before she could move out of the way, the demon pulled the trigger and the gun fired. Stricken with a moment of panic, Buffy then felt her arm holding the dagger twitch and there was suddenly a shower of sparks hitting the pavement before her. Looking down, Buffy realized that her hand had moved the dagger quickly enough to block the incoming bullet with the weapon's blade. The slayer looked back up to see a shocked expression on the demon's face that matched her own. She had no idea she could move that fast. Buffy then noticed that the demon was bleeding from a wound in his side. The demon clenched his abdomen in pain and then fled into the shop. Buffy stepped over the corpse at her feet and followed him.  
  
She reached the doorway and leaped over the shattered door at its base. Buffy spotted the left shoulder of the demon as it entered one of the rooms down the hall. The door slammed close behind it. Buffy cautiously stepped down the hallway towards the door.  
  
As she glanced to her side after entering the building, Buffy gawked in surprise. There, tacked to the wall by the door, Buffy saw her yearbook picture from her junior year at high school. The picture had been blown up to a larger size and below the image of her smiling face the word "Slayer" had been written in fat red ink.   
  
Buffy scowled at the picture.  
  
"So that's how he knew."  
  
She then continued down the hall and reached the door she had seen the fleeing demon escape into. Listening at the door, Buffy thought she heard the shuffling of feet beyond it. Perhaps several pairs of feet. Buffy became aware that if she opened the door, she might be walking into a trap. She had no idea how many creatures inhabited this building. The idea of her rushing into what could be a heavily demon infested lair on her own without any type of reconnaissance struck her has out of character. Normally, after discovering the possible lair, Buffy would have informed the rest of her friends and they would have arrived in force. She had been so pumped up after her last kill that she didn't even considered the danger.   
  
"Too late now." The Slayer thought to herself.  
  
Standing in the hallway outside the door, Buffy closed her eyes. The music which had been fluttering in the back of her mind rose to her attention. She concentrated on the music, feeling it at every point in her body. Buffy then felt the music flutter momentarily at the door and she began to get the feeling that there was danger beyond the door, just beyond it. Even more, she felt fear from the danger...fear over the slayer and why she hadn't entered the room yet. The danger then moved from the door, just to its right...behind the wall.  
  
Her eyes snapping open, Buffy gave a short yell and, without much thought, thrust the dagger through the wall to the right of the door. There was a short howl of pain from inside the room in front of her. Moments later, blood began trickling out from the cut around the dagger. The blood was pale and thick. Buffy's eyes watched the blood as it slowly descended the wall. Her eyes grew wide and a devilish smirk slowly stretched her mouth. Buffy yanked the dagger free from the wall and she heard the sound of something heavy slump to the floor on the other side of the door.   
  
Thoughts of danger fled from her mind as the ringing of the music in her head swelled and pulled her toward the door. With another yell, Buffy kicked at the door with all of her strength. The door swung inward and slammed into the wall behind it. Buffy bolted into the room and rolled to the ground just in time to miss the swipe of a large steel axe at her head. She found herself in a store room full of brown boxes. The boxes piled to the room's ceiling at its walls and large orderly piles of similar boxes could be found spread around the room. Near the door, a square table sat surrounded by chairs. On the table could be seen playing cards and plastic chips. To one side of the table stood the demon she had met at the back entrance. He was still carrying his large pistol and the blood stain on his shirt had grown. Next to him stood another demon of a different variety. This demon's head was of a pale pink color with and array of boney spikes protruding from the back of his skull. His face was wrinkled and gruesome like most demons. Next to the rooms door stood a third demon much like the other with the spiked head only this one held a large axe in his hand. Buffy knew that she had seen these types of demons before and recalled having quite a time killing just one. Also lying next to the door in a pool of blood was another red skinned demon. He wasn't moving.  
  
With a snarl, the demon with the axe charged her with an over hand swing. Buffy deftly dodged to the side and the steel head struck the concrete floor. With fast reflexes, however, the attacking demon swung his right arm out and struck Buffy with the back of his hand across her head. The slayer rolled to the side and caught herself before falling into pile of boxes. When she spun around, she found the other spiky-head demon coming at her with a large clawed hand. She stepped back to dodge the swipe then sliced forward with her dagger. The creature side-stepped the attack and moved out of the way enough to allow the first assaulting demon another overhand swing with his axe. Buffy was again able to avoid the swing, however, her movement left her vulnerable to the unarmed demon and he quickly struck her in the chest. She again fell backward, this time directly into a pile of brown boxes. The demon with the axe came at her again, his glinting steel blade swing down at her now prone body. Stuck in the pile of boxes, Buffy was unable to dodge the attack. In a last effort of defense, Buffy lifted the dagger over her head to parry the attack. When the steel head of the axe struck the dagger's blade, the blade cut cleanly through the base of the axe with no sound. The now separated portion few over Buffy's head and into the boxes. The rest of the axe that the demon held swung past and missed her. The demon was caught off guard by the sudden loss of weight in his axe and stumbled forward. Diving from the pile of boxes as the demon regained his stance, Buffy rolled to her feet and stood to face the demons. Buffy noticed that the horned, red skinned demon that still stood in the back of the room was attempting to aim his pistol in between the fighters. Once Buffy had rolled away from the boxes, the demon had a clear shot on her. In hopes of finishing her off, he fired several rounds at Buffy. The room flashed with each shot and the sound of gun fire echoed between the walls. Buffy again felt her right arm holding the dagger twitch and each of the bullets was deflected by the dagger's blade. The chiming music swelled up again in her head, this time much more insistent. In the heat of the battle, Buffy tried to push the sound aside so that she could concentrate on the fighting. The spiky-head demons were again up and after her. The armed one had not dropped the broken axe and had instead decided to try and pummel her with the now blunt end. The music refused to be ignored and again tried pushing into her mind. Buffy barely kept it at bay. The spiky demons moved in towards her and the one with the axe handle tried swatting at her with the wood. Buffy moved back in time to dodge the attack. The other attacking demon moved swiftly enough as Buffy was distracted to land a claw to her chest. Buffy felt the searing pain of his claws making contact with her skin. She stumbled backwards from the blow, her left hand rising protectively to her bleeding wounds. Having made contact, the unarmed demon howled with delight and rushed forward. Trying to shrug off the pain, the delicate music in her head again pushed, almost pleading with her to allow it access. Fear had risen up into Buffy's throat and she worried that maybe this battle was a bit much for her. The unarmed spiky demon rushed at her in a frenzy. His claws swiping the air in front of him, Buffy was barely able to side step the attack and land a blow to the back of his head, knocking the demon into the row of boxes around the room. She had momentarily forgotten about the demon with the broken axe handle, however. A crushing blow landed on the side of her head and Buffy reeled backward with its force. She landed on her back on the cool concrete floor as her head swarmed with confusion. The blow had dazed her almost completely. Buffy's vision was blurred and swimming. Her head was washed over with pain and she couldn't focus enough to return to the fight. The only clear part of her mind was the still pushing music and chimed in her head. It remained clear and distinct, somehow unaffected by the crack to her head. Finally losing the will to keep it from consuming her mind, Buffy felt the music flood into her. The music overwhelmed her senses. She felt the twang in her fingers, the taste of its chime on her tongue, and the buzz of its tone in her nostrils. Her mind almost instantly cleared of the effect of the demon's blow to her head. She felt the pain of the wounds on her chest fade to near nothing. Her blood seem to catch fire as it coursed through every part of her. The fire made her ravenous for combat. She wanted to feel the quick snap of her arm as she cut into the flesh of her enemy, the lithe sweep of her feet as she dodge an attack, and the gritting satisfaction of delivering the killing blow that would make her victim howl in pain She wanted the fight like none other. Nothing could be sweeter to the slayer now than to feel the steel of her perfect blade cutting perfect holes in her opponents. Buffy's vision cleared and she found that she could now see with a distinction that was lost to her before. She watched as the demon with the wooden axe handle moved to stand over her with his weapon. She couldn't believe how slow he was moving. He took almost and eternity walking over next to her. Buffy watched the tightening and contracting of the sinewy muscles in his legs as he moved. Looking up at the demon's head, Buffy realized the creature was sweating as she noticed each distinct bead of sweat on his head. Finally standing over her now, Buffy watched in fascination as the demon's arms slowly extended above him, lifting the wooden staff over his head for another blow. Buffy saw the demon's face clench with the force of his blow and the axe handle began a slow arc downward and toward her. Finally becoming distinctly aware of the danger, Buffy calmly shuffled to the side and out of the way of the attack. Buffy stood to her feet as the demon's staff struck the hard floor.  
"Finally, the slayer!" He thought.  
  
Harkin, had been told by his master that she might arrive. His master had doubted it, but he was aware that the slayer resided in this town and that it was possible that they may run into her. Now she was here and he was kicking her ass. Sure, she had been able to break the head on his favorite axe, but her ineptitude had left her open to his attack and he had finally landed a solid blow to her head. She had sprawled onto her back after the hit and now laid in a dazed stupor.   
  
"I shall finish the slayer! Only the excelled fighting of the draconis-morti could hope to defeat her and I, Harkin of the Harold Blade, shall destroy her!"  
  
He moved toward her prone form as quickly as he could and lifted his broken axe handle over his head for the finishing blow. Harkin was aiming his attack at her unprotected head and expected to easily crush her skull with his great strength. Finally releasing his attack, the swung downward with all his might...and struck the floor. Staring at the concrete slab where the slayer had been lying on only an instant before, his wooden staff looked chipped from the force of his blow. Snapping his head up in astonishment, Harkin found the Slayer standing before him with a puzzled look on her face. Releasing a claw from the axe handle, he struck forward at her. There was a blur of her form and his hand seemed to pass right through her. Straightening up to attack her again with his weapon, Harkin suddenly felt a tremendous hit to his chest. The force of the blow lifted him off his feet and backward through the air several feet. He landed on an as yet undisturbed pile of boxes. The boxes flew from the force of his falling weight but he felt his shoulder strike the solid corner of the crate containing his master's coffin. The breathe was knocked out of him has he landed on the floor. Taking only a moment to recover, Harkin stood in time to see a blur of the Slayers form assault his mate. The Slayer moved faster than Harkin had thought possible as she advanced. Harkin watched as his mate tried to claw at the Slayer's form only to see the human deftly dodge the attack and thrust forward with her blade extended. The blade of the dagger that the Slayer wielded now glowed a pale white in her hand. Harkin gasped as he saw the glowing blade easily penetrate the thick hide over his mate's heart. The skin of the draconis-morti was legendary for its almost impervious nature. However, it seemed that the blade of the slayer slipped through its thickness with ease. Harkin's mate howled in pain and placed a hand over the blade extending from his wound. The Slayer sharply pulled back on her weapon and the blade slipped from it the wound. As it left his mate's chest, Harkin saw the knife cleaning cut through his hand held over the wound in reflex. Half of his mate's hand fell to the floor between him and the Slayer. Harkin howled in rage and leapt forward, intent on reaching the Slayer and punishing her for harming his mate. Before reaching her, however, Harkin was met by the flying body of his mate thrown in his direction. The body made contact with him and they both fell to ground, Harkin again having the breathe knocked out of him. Harkin watched as the slayer then advanced upon the red-skinned owner of the shop they were staying in. The Slayer's form was in-distinct as she rushed toward the demon. He still held the large pistol before him and he fired a few shots toward the Slayer as she moved. The shots seemed to miss the Slayer as she quickly made it to the demon's side. The storeowner tried to bash her with the barrel of his gun, but the wound he had received in his side must have stung him as he winced in pain. A moment later, his head buckled back from an insanely fast hit from the Slayer. She then pounced at him and Harkin saw the demon's head leave his body, rolling away from the fight and under a table. The demon's headless corpse slumped to the ground. Harkin reached to his right toward his mate lying next to him. He tapped him on the chest in a motion to get him up, but there was no movement. Looking toward his right, Harkin saw his mate not moving and his eyes open, but unseeing. Rage welled up in Harkin and he leaped to his feet. The Slayer stood across the room from him next the corpse of the storekeeper. She watched him with a look of fascination in her eyes as her blade glowed in her hand. Forgetting the handle of his broken weapon, Harkin ran forward and launched himself over a piled of boxes, his claws extended before him and looking for human blood. As he was clearing the boxes with his jump, the form of the Slayer twitch then vanished and he felt her rush past him through the air. There was a cold sharp sensation in his abdomen as she passed. He lost his balance and crashed to the ground. He felt pain in his stomach and as he rolled over to glance down at the pain, he found his innards spilled out on the concrete floor below him. A large gashed extended through his skin from one side of his waist to the other. Blood began to gurgle into the demon's mouth and he suddenly felt very light-headed. He glanced across the room to see the Slayer standing over the body of his mate. She made a sudden slice with her weapon and she then lifted and threw his mate's head across the floor. Harkin then felt quite tired and leaned back in exhaustion. He closed his eyes and blackness enveloped him.  
Buffy wasn't sure what was happening to her. The world around her moved with a patience she couldn't understand. She had seen each and every bullet escape the red-skinned demon's gun and make their way toward her. Certainly, they moved faster than the creatures around her, but she saw the bullets as the fled across the room toward her and she had easily been able to simply move from their path. The demons themselves had grown slow and their attacks easily avoided. Her senses were also confusing her. She had felt every delicious cut of her blade with a poignant clarity. She could smell the fear and anger from each of the demons. Her eyes had recognized their next moves before they happened. The music in her head had also reacted differently on each kill. It rose, almost joyously, as she killed each demon however it seemed unfulfilled and continued to chime in her head.  
  
Buffy looked down at the headless demon at her feet. Buffy wasn't certain why she had cut off the demon's head. It was plainly dead at her feet. However, the idea was more than she could resist. When she felt the blade pass through the demons skin, bone, and organs Buffy felt further satisfaction from the kill. Her blood still boiled for the kill. Buffy was about to leave the room and search the rest of the store when she noticed a portion of wood sticking out from under a pile of boxes. The wood seemed to be the corner of a larger crate. She moved over to the pile and began clear the boxes out of the way. Buffy was quickly able to reveal the entire crate. It was roughly seven feet long and three to four feet wide. Its lid was secured with nails around its perimeter. Buffy reached under the wood and forced her fingers in between the lid and base of the crate. She then heaved upwards and the lid popped off and landed on the side opposite of the slayer. Buffy looked down into the crate with confusion. The crate was packed full of dirt. She had heard and read of vampires whom were transported in a bed of dirt, but this was the first time she had ever seen anything like it. Still, Buffy wasn't completely certain it was a vampire. There are a vast variety of types of demons and she certainly didn't know the habits of all of them. Anger welled up in her and she reached down and lifted the side of the crate. The wooden box rolled over and the entire contents of dirt spilled out and onto the concrete floor. It seemed that nothing else had been in the crate but this dirt. It was everywhere now, and nothing seemed to be hidden in its mass. Disappointed, Buffy turned from the mess she had made and began walking toward the door out of the room. Had she continued watching the dirt, Buffy would have seen particles of dust rising of the face of the dirt and begin swirling in mid air. Buffy was halfway to the door when her currently enhanced senses began to pick up the disturbance in the room. Whirling about, Buffy suddenly found herself facing a man who stood in the mess of dirt. He looked to be dress for some formal party. He stood about a foot taller than Buffy and looked slim in build. His face was a pale white and Buffy could see the faint lines of blue veins in his skin. He wore a pair of loose black slacks and black dress shoes. On his chest was a vest with a swirling pattern of black and red. He wore a white under shirt and a black bow tie.  
  
"All he needs is a black cape and a top hat and he'd be right out of the mind of Bram Stoker." Buffy thought.  
  
The man was looking about the room assessing his surroundings. He then looked at the floor about him, taking notice of the spilled dirt he now stood in.  
  
"Interesting." He stated with a slight British accent.  
  
He then looked up toward Buffy and upon seeing her a deep scowl clenched his brow.  
  
"I see." He said softly and slightly irritated.  
  
Buffy was about to comment about his being an almost visual copy of a story book vampire, when the chiming music in her head flurried across her mind. Suddenly the thought of him being a vampire was certain and she wanted nothing more than to destroy him. Without so much a single witty remark, Buffy launched herself over ground and directly toward his form. She felt the world rush around her and the quick sharpening of her senses that was familiar from her recent battle with the demons. There was a momentary startled look on the vampires face as she leaped at him. Buffy was almost upon him with her dagger stabbing before her when the vampire made a quick jerk to the side and dodged the attack. Buffy noticed that his movements didn't seem as slow as the demons. Upon missing with her first attack, Buffy swiped out to the left with her blade. The vampire jumped backward away from the attack and landed halfway across the room. Buffy immediately leaped toward him, again attempting to strike at him with her weapon. The eyes of the vampire were wide with wonder as she came deathly close to cutting him. Barely dodging her attack, the vampire made a swipe at Buffy with the back of his hand. The Slayer jerked her head backward to dodge the attack.   
  
"My, aren't we an agile one." The vampire commented.  
  
Buffy responded with a growl and stabbed at him again with her dagger. The vampire side stepped her blade, but was cut off guard by her quick kick. The blow landed squarely in his side and he slid backward across the concrete from its force.  
  
The vampire gritted his teeth in pain.  
  
"My word, they've improved slayers in the last hundred years."  
  
Buffy said nothing as she pressed her attack on him. Each time she swung, the vampire was able to closely dodge then attack in return. Buffy quickly dived and swooped away from the vampire's counter attacks. They continued to attack and defend this way until Buffy saw the vampire make a quick move that exposed his chest. With a sharp jab Buffy was able to strike past the vampire's flailing hand and drive her blade deep into his chest.  
  
Upon making contact, the fight stopped. The vampire looked down to see Buffy's hand holding the blade deep in his chest. He looked back up at her with a smirk on his face.  
  
"Alright, I'll grant you that you're fast, but it seems that you might be new at this. You see, not only do you need to be using wood to destroy me, but you also need to hit my heart."  
  
Buffy glanced up into his eyes. A smirk of her own crept onto her lips. Concentrating momentarily on the blade, the soft glowing surround the metal flared brighter within the vampire's wound. The vampire's head jerked upward and his eyes grew wider. With a quick rushing of what sounded similar to wind, the vampire turned to dust. Overjoyed by the feeling of the kill, Buffy was overwhelmed by the rush of sensation that grabbed a hold of her body. The feeling of gratifying pleasure gripped her mind and her legs buckled out from under her. What seemed liked a wash of electricity flooded over her body and she arched her back as she lay on the floor. Never before had she felt something so intense. Every part of her being was inundated with the pleasurable lightning. Slowly the feeling subsided and her muscles began to relax. She lay there on the floor surrounded by the corpses of her slain demons for several minutes as she basked in the glow of her reward.  
  
She liked her new dagger. Yes, she did. 


	5. He stirs

Richard arrived at building where he worked well after the sun had gone down. After the incident in the woods, Richard had spent the next few hours stumbling almost blindly through the dark forest. He had run on through the brush for several minutes after seeing that Englishman come after him with that ferocious animal-like face. As he ran, Richard had felt the man only a step behind him. Richard's dead run through the trees had often caught his leg on the outgrowth and brought him face first with the forest floor. He had then scrambled to his feet, expecting the deadly fangs of his pursuer to piece his flesh at any moment. Finally realizing that he wasn't being followed, Richard had then wandered through the trees looking for the edge of the forest. It wasn't until the sun rose close to an hour later that Richard had been able to find is way out. Coming to a highway which followed the tree line, Richard had begun walking up the road in the direction that he had believed took him toward town. Soon, he had spotted a car driving up the road at his rear and his first thought had been to flag the car down and hopefully get a ride. Richard had then realized that those who had tried to kill him last night or whatever organization they worked for might still be looking him. Panicking, Richard had quickly dove back into the trees before the car's occupants could have a chance to spot him. Richard had traveled this way, dodging cars as they came up the road, until he had seen what looked like the airport terminal along the road ahead. Upon reaching the terminal, Richard had been slightly hesitant to enter. He knew that if someone was still looking for him, that they might have people watching for him at the airport. Deciding that he had to take the chance or otherwise be stuck in this town, Richard had finally entered. He made his way to the ticket counter and had bought the next flight back to Los Angeles. The attendant at the booth had eyed him a bit warily. Richard realized that he was acting a bit paranoid and that the run through the woods had left him looking a bit disheveled. Once on the flight, however, Richard had felt a bit more at ease. Seeing the runway fall into the distance behind the small plane, he had finally began to relax. Having not slept in over twenty-four hours, Richard was soon passed-out in his seat.  
  
From L.A., Richard had bought a flight back across the country to Langley. He wasn't quite certain what to do when he got there. He felt a little like he was heading back into the jaws of danger. Getting home seemed more important that anything to Richard at that moment. As if within the confines of his small apartment nothing could harm him. On the flight back to L.A., however, Richard had plenty of time to think about the extreme circumstances in which he had found himself. He finally decided that he had to get back to the laboratory where he worked and warn the rest of his team. If Jerry was still involved with the project, then none of them were safe. After picking up his car in the parking lot at Langley Airport, Richard had driven straight over to his offices. The sky was dark and cloudy as he drove the streets to the office and the closer he got, the more ominous the dark clouds became.   
  
Now, Richard was just passing the guards post into the parking lot outside his building. The post was more heavily guarded than normal. There was another officer in the booth with its operator and each looked a little fidgety. They thoroughly checked Richard's identification when he pulled up and acted uneasy the entire process They required his office badge, his driver's license, and the registration for his car. After that, there was a two minute phone call by the guards up to the building. Finally, they raised the bar and allowed him into the compound. Driving up to the front of the building, Richard pulled into one of the spaces reserved for upper management. Richard was in a hurry and suddenly thought that worrying about trouble over a parking space was a bit silly under the circumstances. As he exited his car, Richard spotted several police vehicles parked directly below the steps up to the main entrance. Their emergency lights were on and rhythmically flashed their blue and red. There were three police cars, none were occupied.  
  
Richard had a moment of panic. Was it possible that they were looking for him?   
  
"Perhaps Jerry had contacted the police and issued a warrant for my arrest." Richard thought.  
  
Richard shook his head and dropped the idea.   
  
"I've been watching too much X-Files."  
  
Richard climbed the stairs to the entrance warily however, watching around him for any sudden movement. Reaching the top of the stairs and seeing the entrance, Richard stopped in his tracks. Glass lay shattered across the concrete outside the entrance. Both of the heavy, glass inlaid doors lay on the concrete several feet from the entrance into the building. Each looked broken and mangled, as if they had been torn off their hinges and tossed aside. Inside beyond the walls of glass that surrounded most of the lobby, Richard saw several police officers in uniform standing at the front security desk. They appeared to be questioning the guard at the desk. Richard continued walking again toward the front entrance. As he stepped cautiously over the broken glass and into the building, Richard saw one of the officers glance up at him. He motioned to a fellow officer next to him and pointed toward Richard. The second officer then stepped away from the guard station and began waling across the lobby toward Richard. Richard watched the man as he approached. Glancing past him and toward the rest of the officers as the guard station, Richard noticed something on the front of the dark marble-looking booth. Realizing what he was seeing, Richard's eyes opened wider. It was a blood stain.  
  
The officer came within a few feet of Richard and held his hand out towards him.  
  
"Stop there, sir." He commanded curtly.  
  
Richard stopped.  
  
"What happened," Richard asked.  
  
The officer lowered his hand and grabbed the grip of the pistol holstered at his side.  
  
"There has been a bit of an incident, sir. Looks like someone broke in and stole a few things." He answered.  
  
"What," Richard responded, disbelieving.  
  
"Do you work here, sir," the officer asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Richard then pulled his badge out from under his coat and presented it to the officer. The policeman looked down at the badge then back up at Richard.  
  
"What did they take?" Richard asked as his waited.  
  
"I'm not sure, sir. Where in the building were you heading?"  
  
Richard was heading down stairs and into the underground lab. He wanted to check on his team. For some reason, however, Richard felt it would be dangerous to mention this to the officer.   
  
"I'm heading up to my office," he lied. "It's on the second floor."  
  
The officer nodded in satisfaction.  
  
"Thank you, sir. Just checking. You have a nice night."  
  
With that, the officer turned from Richard and began walking back toward the others at the guard station.   
  
"Was anyone hurt?" Richard asked the officer as he walked away.  
  
The officer flinched at the question and stopped. He didn't answer right away. He then half turned toward Richard and spoke back over his shoulder while looking at the floor.  
  
"I...I'm not sure, sir." He stammered and then hurriedly continued walking away.  
  
Richard watched him for a few moments then began making his way past the opposite side of the guard station and towards the elevators behind it. There was a set of three elevators on each side of the back of the lobby. As Richard approached them, he noticed that one of the elevator doors on the right was open. As he passed the door, Richard glanced inside. He gasped at what he saw. The back, upper left corner of the white elevator car was splattered with blood. It almost completed covered the upper corner and the wall down to the elevator floor. On the floor of the elevator car, Richard saw what looked like a police marker with the letter "H" written upon it. Richard shuddered at the thought of what that marker represented.  
  
"What the hell happened here?" Richard thought. A far away sense of fear brushed the edge of his mind.  
  
As Richard stepped passed the blood stained elevator, he glanced above it and noticed that the green up arrow indicator was lit. Whatever had caused that stain might have come from bellow. The implications worried Richard as the faces of his team flashed through his mind. He stepped up to the elevators on the right side and reached out to push the down arrow set in the plate in between two of the doors. He paused before he hit the button. With a calm motion, Richard turned his head to the right and looked back over his shoulder at the guard station. Richard found the officer which had questioned him at the door watching him. Richard turned to face the elevator call buttons and pushed the up arrow.  
  
Richard took the arriving elevator to the second floor of the building where he stepped off and immediately selected the down arrow directly outside the elevator doors. Once the car arrived, Richard rode it down to its lowest possible level, well beneath the city of Langley. Reaching its destination, the doors opened and Richard stared out of the elevator into the dark end of a long hallway. Looking up at the ceiling, Richard saw that the halogen lights had been broken. The floor below the lights was littered with bits of white glass and plastic. Stepping cautiously from the elevator Richard began a slow walk down the hallway toward the double-doors at the far end. Walking through the darkened end, Richard glanced to the side and saw a dark stain of blood on wall. The stain was low on the wall and ran down to the floor where a larger stain marked where a pool of crimson had recently been. Richard was startled by the sight and glanced around at the rest of the nearby hallway. To his astonishment, he saw several more stains marking the walls. He also noticed what looked like bullet holes riddled in an almost random pattern across the walls and floor. Richard rushed by the gory scene, worry welling up in his chest anew. Reaching the double doors, Richard burst through them and into the adjoining hallway. No one walked the normally busy floor. Richard looked for disturbances similar to those he had just witness. The floor and walls looked as clean as ever. Taking the hallway to the left, Richard soon came to the security elevator leading down into the restricted floors. Richard swiped his badge through the card reader and waited for the system to beep indicating that he needed to next pass the palm and retinal scans. The system did not beep however and Richard was about to swipe his card again when the elevator doors opened. Richard was puzzled. He had never known the security measures to be lifted in any way.   
  
"Perhaps the system was somehow broken during the theft." Richard thought. Then the idea that what the thieves had been after was down in the restricted area popped into his head. His team wasn't the only one working on a project in the labs below so the possibility that the thieves had been after anything Richard was working on was remote. This logic didn't calm Richard down in any way.   
  
With his brow clenched in worry, Richard stepped onto the elevator and punched the button for the floor on which his team was working. The doors closed and the elevator silently slid downwards. Moments later, the elevator rung loudly and doors opened. Richard was immediately greeted by the scene of several more blood stains splattered on the wall of the outside hallway. No one could be seen down either direction of the hallway. It seemed as if the entire building had been evacuated. In a panic, Richard rushed out of the elevator and down the hallway. He soon reached the lab where his team had been examining the ancient dagger. Entering the bright room through the double doors, doors which Richard knew should have been locked with a guard posted outside, Richard stopped just inside the doorway. The room was in shambles. The examining tables had been knocked over and glass was strewn about the floor. Much of the electrical equipment had been shattered and now stood blackened and destroyed. Stains of dried blood were splattered across the floor.   
  
Richard fled the room and continued down the hallway. The hallway curved to the left and Richard moved around the turn at almost a run. Stopping abruptly, Richard stood facing the strong doors to the storage room. Through the small windows in the doors, Richard saw that the room beyond was dark. He stepped over to the console on the side of the door, ready to swipe his badge through the card reader in order to gain entrance. He found the console dark and unresponsive. Confused, Richard reached for the handle on one of the doors and pulled. The door swung smoothly toward him. Still not understanding why security was all but removed, Richard walked into the dark room.   
  
Stepping inside the room, Richard noticed the array of equipment to his right. The equipment was all dark, nothing was functioning. Turning to look at the corner behind him, Richard felt his knees almost buckle. The tank still sat in its corner. However, it sat empty. The thick insulated glass of the front of the tank had been shattered and only a small pool of coolant sat in the bottom. The rest of the coolant had presumably spilled out when the glass had been broken. The remains were nowhere to be found. Richard had the fleeting thought that the tank had somehow broken and that they man's remains had been relocated because of it, but Richard knew this was not the case. For some reason, the remains had been stolen. Richard couldn't understand why. Certainly, the find had great significance, but why were these remains so important that someone had to break into a government compound and kill several people to steal them.   
  
Richard stepped back to the wall and slid to the floor. He thought again about his research team. Some of which had no doubt been in the lab when the break-in had occurred. He hoped that everyone was alright, but the evidence didn't support that hope. Richard buried his head in his hands. He didn't understand what was happening and the stress of the last few days was beginning to take its toll. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes.  
  
Suddenly, the cell phone in Richard's pocket rang. Its singular high pitched chiming started Richard his head shot up.  
  
The phone rang again.   
  
Trying to calm himself, Richard reached into his coat pocket and pulled the phone out. He hit the keypad and raised the device to his ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mr. Bateman?"   
  
It was Jerry.  
  
Anger exploded in Richard and he quickly rose to his feet.   
  
"You sonofabitch! What the hell have you done?" Richard yelled into his phone.  
  
"Calm down, Mr. Bateman."  
  
"Calm down?" Richard cried, incredulously. "Calm down? First you try and have me killed and now you do this...break into the lab and steal the remains?"  
  
"I had nothing to do with the loss of the remains, Mr. Bateman. And yes, I did attempt to have you killed. But I had my reasons...reasons which have changed."  
  
"I don't give a shit about your reasons!" Richard yelled. "You can be sure that the director's office will hear about this mess!"  
  
"Fine, tell them." Jerry responded calmly. "In the mean time, I have something I need to show you. Will you meet me in your office upstairs?"  
  
"Meet you? I don't friggin trust you. How do I know that you're not lying to me?"  
  
"If I wanted you dead, Mr. Bateman, I would have killed you as soon as you arrived in Langley. Now, I can partially explain what happened in the lab earlier this evening, but I need you to meet me upstairs."  
  
Richard scowled at his options. He certainly didn't trust Jerry any longer, but it was becoming more and more imperative to Richard by the moment to try and make some sense of the events of the last few days. He knew that sitting alone in his apartment wasn't going to help. Finally, accepting that he had no where else to turn Richard agreed to meet Jerry alone.  
  
Leaving the storage room, Richard made his way down several of the dimly lit hallways. Richard was used to these halls being normally filled with white coat researchers who worked on the various projects housed in the subterranean lab. Now, however, the sound of his footsteps on the pale tile of the floor was the only sound Richard heard as he walked. A subtle feeling of paranoia crept in as he imagined an unidentified stalker following only a few corners behind him. Finally reaching his destination, Richard stood before a door with the word "Security" stenciled on its front. Normally, these doors were inaccessible to everyone but the armed security personnel that constantly roamed the hall. Richard was hoping that with the rest of the doors open to anyone with a badge that this door would also allow him access. Taking his badge in hand, Richard swiped it through the card reader attached next to the heavy door. The indicator on the card reader flashed green and he heard the door click. Richard pulled on the door and it swung open. Stepping inside, Richard found himself in a small locker room. Two lines of almost ceiling high steel lockers ran the length of the walls to Richard's left and right. Bolted to the floor in front of both row of lockers were two lacquered wooden benches. On the far wall opposite the door hung what Richard had come looking for, the firearm cabinet. The cabinet door was a heavy mesh of metal and its lock was a numeric key pad. The cabinet door currently hung open, however. Richard approached the cabinet. He found that it held four black automatic rifles, each standing to the back of the cabinet. Two of the slots used for rifles were currently empty. Next to the rifles at the bottom of the cabinet were slots for what looked like the security officer's standard issue handguns. Reaching down, Richard lifted one out of its slot. The gun was heavy and cold in his hand. Richard hadn't fired a weapon in years. As a research agent for the CIA, Richard had no need to carry a gun like many field agents did. Remembering the basics, however, Richard released the clip which slid out of the bottom of the grip. The clip was fully loaded. Richard slammed the clip back into place and pulled back on the gun's breach, loading a bullet into the barrel. He didn't like weapons much and always felt uncomfortable when he had carried one. Jerry had already attempted to kill him once, however, and Richard wouldn't allow him to try again.  
  
A few minutes later, Richard was stepping off the elevator onto the compounds second floor above ground. The hallways were again dark but Richard was used to this having worked many late hours. Richard had placed the gun in his coat pocket. He had looked for a holster of some type for the weapon before leaving the security room, but found nothing readily available.   
  
Richard cautiously made his way down the cold, dimly lit hallways. His feet echoed off the tile floors, making his approach obvious to anyone but a deaf person. Richard turned a corner and spotted the door to his office down the adjoining hallway. The door stood open and his office light was on. Richard paused for a moment and listened for any sounds of who might be waiting for him. Nothing. He then slowly walked down the hallway toward his door. He tried being as quiet as possible, but his shoes still clicked on the tiles and thwarted his efforts. Finally reaching the lit door, Richard bent his neck around the corner and peered in.   
  
Sitting patently on the side of his desk was Jerry. He was wearing the same formal clothing that Richard had last seen him in. Leaning back on to Richard's desk, Jerry had his hands calmly folded in front of him. Upon seeing Jerry, Richard's anger began to rise. He recognized this man as the man who had ordered his death. Reaching into his coat, Richard pulled the gun out. He held the weapon pointed before him as he turned the corner and entered his office.  
  
As he entered the room, Jerry's head snapped around to spot him. A smile flashed across the thin man's face. He then glanced down and saw the weapon in Richard's hand. The weapon that Richard was currently pointing at him. Jerry sharply stood from the desk and took a step back from Richard.  
  
"I'm just here to help you, Richard." Jerry stated in his always calm tone.  
  
"Don't worry," Richard assured, "this is just for protection. You'll understand if I don't completely trust you."  
  
"I told you, if I wanted you dead you wouldn't have ever made it to the office."  
  
"I guess you'll just have to consider me paranoid." Richard replied. "Okay, tell me what happened downstairs. Who took the remains?"  
  
Jerry smiled.   
  
"I doubt the answer would be believable if I told you." He reached into the pocket of his black coat and pulled something out. It was made of opaque plastic and Richard recognized it as a VHS tape holder.  
  
"This is a tape from the security cameras during the incident. It was confiscated by us before the local police arrived. Its footage from several different camera stations across the building, actually." He paused. "This will answer all your questions."  
  
Jerry then offered the tape before him to Richard. Hesitantly, Richard reached out and snatched the tape from Jerry's hand. He glanced down at the plastic case then back up toward Jerry.   
  
"What happened to the rest of my research team?" Richard asked, almost a whisper.  
  
Jerry's gaze hardened and he took a moment to swallow.  
  
"The tape will show you." He finally answered.  
  
Fear spiked up Richard's back. He was scared by the implications of that statement.  
  
Backing out of his office, Richard continued to point his weapon at Jerry. Once out the door and in the hallway, Richard jerked to his right and almost sprinted down the hallway.  
  
There was a meeting room on this end of the office that was equipped with a VCR, the same meeting room where Richard had given his presentation to Jerry not more than two days ago. Running down the hall with the tape case and the gun in hand, Richard soon reached his destination. He burst through the door and into the room and was plunged into darkness. Richard dropped the gun into his coat pocket and groped along the wall with his hand. He finally found the switch and flipped on the lights. The room was just as he remembered it with its long mahogany table, leather chairs, and plush red carpeting. Rushing across the room to the canvas on the far wall, Richard hit a button on a panel to the side of the canvas. A quiet whirling sound clicked in and the canvas hanging over the wall slowly lifted into the ceiling. Behind the canvas, a large screen television sat in a niche. Next to the screen on a shelf also inlaid in the wall was a VCR. Richard hurriedly popped open the cassette case Jerry had given him and slid the tape into the VCR. He then tapped a button on the bottom of the large television screen and the room slowly lit up with a pale glow. The VCR auto-played after Richard inserted the tape. Now all Richard saw on the screen was the standard television white-noise.   
  
A moment passed and the screen flickered and an image appeared. It was the storage room down below the surface where the remains had been kept. The grainy view was from one of the room corners by the ceiling. It showed almost the entire room. In the center of the image stood the tank and Richard saw that it still held the remains. The was no sound with the picture and only the quiet motor unwinding the tape inside the VCR accompanied Richard's breath. Richard's eyes locked on the double doors on the right of the image. Any moment, Richard expected to see the doors burst open and the face of the thieves that had were there to take the remains. Nothing happened, however. Several minutes went by and nothing happened. Richard stood and walked over to the VCR to hit the controls and forward through until he saw someone. He was about to hit the button when, out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw something move on-screen. Standing directly in front of the screen, Richard turned his attention back to the image. Again, nothing happened. Richard was about to turn and reach for the VCR to rewind the image, when movement happened again. Richard's jaw dropped and his blood drained from his face. The movement had come from inside the tank. He watched as a hand lifted inside the blue liquid of the tank and pressed against the glass. The palm laid flat against the insulated pane. Suddenly, a face jutted out from within the clear blue coolant and up against the glass. Richard gasped and stumbled backwards, catching himself on the table behind him. The face was the stony mask of the remains. Richard continued to watch the image. The man in the tank pressed his forehead against the glass, peering out into the room beyond. The face wasn't completely clear, but Richard swore he saw anger written across it. The face withdrew back into the tank and was lost to the security camera. The tank then jostled and almost tipped over on its side. Then there was calm and Richard squinted at the image looking for a glimpse of the now active remains. Suddenly, the glass front of the tank shattered outward with explosive power, showering the room with deadly shards. Coolant spilled out of the tank through the new opening and splashed across the floor of the storeroom.   
Spilling out with coolant, the remains crashed to the storeroom floor. The body landed on its hands and knees. With a quick jerk of his torso, the man stood. His head snapped around looking about the room franticly. A snarl curled the mans lip and his back arched forward like that of a angry wolf. He then almost leapt across the room toward the double doors. The man took an instant to stare out the security doors. Without thinking, Richard hoped that the doors would be able to hold him in. A moment later, the man on the screen thrust his arms at the double doors and they both broke open with a tremendous force. The man vanished from the room.  
  
Richard's mind was wrapped in denial. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He had been poking and prodding these remains only days ago. There was no activity. His heart was stopped and there was no electrical activity in the brain. There had been no biological activity whatsoever.   
  
The image on-screen flickered and changed. Richard was now looking at destroyed lab he had come across while downstairs earlier. Only now, the lab was almost pristine. Two figures looked to be working in the lab. One was a long haired technician in a white coat examining something under a microscope. Richard recognized this person as Nancy, one of the members of his team and the last friend he had talked to before leaving for Sunnydale. The other was another technician in a white coat. This technician was a male with very short black hair. His back was facing the security camera so Richard wasn't exactly sure who this was. With wild eyes, Richard watched the image and wondered what this had to do with the activity of the remains. A moment passed as the two technicians worked. Watching Nancy, Richard saw her look up from her work on the table and glance to the left toward the door which sat out of the camera's view. Staring at the door off camera, Nancy's eyes grew wide and she froze in place. A moment later, Nancy spoke something and the tech working near her looked up at her and then turned to face towards the door off camera. As he turned, Richard recognized the technician. It was Michael Qualer. He was a relatively new addition to the team and Richard wasn't very familiar with him. Both stood in their white coats with looks of astonishment across their faces. Then, from the lower portion of the image where one entering from the door would first appear, Richard saw the black haired head of the remains step into view. Richard could only see the top of his head, but he seemed to be walking slowly towards the two technicians. The animated remains towered over the two frightened technicians with his broad shoulders and strong arms. Nancy and Michael began backing away from him and towards the far wall. The remains stop his approached and watched as Nancy and Michael fearfully backed away. Richard then saw the remain's jaw moving and watched as he seemed to began speaking. The faces of the two terrified techs clenched in confusion. The remains continued to speak and then he lifted his hand with a clenched fist gesturing as if holding something. Nancy began shouting, looking at the door off the screen while Michael continued to stare at the man before him. As Nancy continued to shout, Richard saw the muscles of the remains clench and the man opened his mouth to shout. Both Nancy and Michael gripped their heads in pain, covering their ears. The camera shook and Richard saw glass exploded from the direction for the door and inward on the room, showering the three inhabitants with shards. Then the image distorted and flickered into static.  
  
The next image flashed onto the screen and showed the elevator exit at the end of the long hallway at the entrance to the underground labs. Richard remembered the numerous blood stains he had found along the walls of that hallway. The camera position seemed to be on the far wall from the elevator exit. The hallway currently looked unharmed and all of the overhanging lights were intact and working.   
  
Moments into the image, Richard saw someone step into view at the bottom of the image. Richard recognized the long black hair and broad shoulders of the now walking remains. He walked calmly down the hallway toward the elevator doors. He was still naked but Richard gasped when he saw what looked like blood dripping from his hands. The animated remains stepped forward slowly, patiently. As he calmly stepped down the hallway, his head continuously twisted from one side to another, scanning the walls and ceiling.   
  
Richard watched as he stopped in his tracks and his head jerked forward toward the elevator doors. Suddenly the arrival indicator above the elevator lit. The steel doors jarred with movement as they began to open. Watching the doors for only a split second, the remains swiftly bolted to the left toward the wall and disappeared from view. Richard's eye stared with disbelief at what he had just seen. If he hadn't been a practical man, he would have swore he saw the remains disappear behind the wall as if it had been a curtain or wall of water. The elevator doors continued to open and out stepped three men. Richard recognized these men as security officers. All officers were armed and now held their weapons in their hands. Two men held black pistols, but the third officer in back had a large automatic rifle which he held across his chest by the trigger. They looked down the hallway warily then began walking towards the far exit. Richard watched them converse as they slowly traversed the hallway. Their movements were carefully placed and they watched the door at the end of the hallway with scrutiny.   
  
Finally passing halfway down the hallway and passed the point at which the remains disappeared, Richard began to see a distortion in the paint on the left wall. Not watching their rear, the guards seemed unaware as they continued walking. The distortion was bending the white paint on the wall outwards like a bulbous appendage. Richard watched in horror as the distortion formed into the face of the remains. His head and black hair hung out from the wall as if he was a part of it. Slowly the distortion expanded as the remains stepped clear of the paint. Now standing behind the guards, the remains watched with deadly calm as they stepped away from him. Then he spoke. His moth opened and his slim lips subtly moved to form his words. Seeing the man's face, Richard tried to make out what he might be saying but the words were too foreign. At the sound from behind them, the already wary guards snapped around with weapons high and pointed at the remains. From the camera's viewing angle, Richard could only see the upper torso of each of the guards but Richard could still make out the guards shouting at the remains and motioning toward the floor with their weapons.   
  
The remains waited a moment and then spoke again.   
  
His lips moved sharp and dangerously as he spoke this time with his face twisting in anger at every syllable. He lifted his hand into a fisted before him and bounced the wrist in place as if he was holding something. The still shouting guards stopped yelling when they spotted his hand and the blood that dripped from it. In a blaze of light, the third guard, now in front, fired several rounds from his rifle at the remains. Quick as lightning, Richard watched the lifted hand of the remains blur through the air before him. When the firing ceased, the remains stood with his blood soaked hand before him. The guards stared in confusion, their weapons lowering slightly in their disbelief.  
  
The remains opened his hand and something dropped from his palm and too the floor. Panic overtaking them, the guards lifted their weapons and opened fire. Just as the first few shots we fired, the remains vanished from view, as if instantly wiped from the image. The rifle of the front-most guard suddenly rocked upward and sprayed wild shots across the hallway and up the wall. A spray of red coming from out of camera view splattered across the wall to the left as the shots continued. One of the guards appeared flying out from behind the cameras imaged and sailed down the hallway and landed in a heap at the far elevator doors. Flashes of gunfire strobed the hallway and one of the overhanging lights exploded in a hail of glass and plastic. Then the image jarred upward toward the ceiling and then flashed back into snow.  
  
The screen flickered and an new image appeared. This time the image was a split screen between two camera images. On the left the image showed the building's lobby and elevator exits. Clearly shown in the lower portion of the screen was the lobby guard station. Currently, a single guard sat behind the desk. On the right side of the screen, Richard saw a view of the main entrance and the outside stairs leading up to the doors.  
  
The guard at the station sat comfortably behind the desk staring at something blocked from the cameras view. Richard saw the flickering of multicolored lights across the guards face and realized that the guard was probably watching public television.   
  
Down the wide hallway behind the guard station, Richard saw the arrival indicator light up above one of the elevators to the left. Richard was overcome with a sense of dread as he watched the elevator doors. Slowly they slid open. From the camera angel, Richard could not see into the elevator. He watched the emptiness between the open doors expecting the remains to step out and onto the black tile floor of the lobby. Just before the elevator doors closed, Richard saw the bare form of the animated remains step into the lobby. He still held the impenetrable calm manner and walked with curious determination down the hallway from the elevator and toward the guard station.  
  
The guard at the station had not responded to the familiar pang of the elevator's arrival. He continued to watch the television before him. The remains approached behind him and watched with raptor's eyes. Sensing someone approaching, the guard snapped his head around to peer behind him. The guard spotted the naked and blood soaked form walking down the hall behind him and sat startled for a moment. He then leapt from his chair and drew his sidearm out from its holster on his belt. He held the weapon up before him and towards the remains. The remains didn't waiver from his approach.  
  
Seeing that his threat was not being heeded, the guard backed around the front of the guard station and tried to keep the round marble station between him and the remains. The remains walked up to the marble and stopped, watching the guard. Confused, the guard began shouting at the remains. Richard saw his mouth opening wide with each word. His posture suggested that he was issuing commands. The remains didn't seem to respond except to lift his right hand palm closed before him as if he was holding something. He then spoke with calm form. The guard stopped his shouting and stared at the remains in confusion. Then, the guard noticed the drying blood caked over his hand. His eyes drew wide and his muscles clenched. With a flash from the muzzle, a shot fired from the pistol held in the guard's hand. Watching the remains, Richard blinked at what he saw. Before the shot, the remains had been holding right his hand outstretched before him with the palm closed. Now, however, his hand was lifted over his left shoulder with the closed fist facing outward. Richard hadn't taken his eyes off the remains and had not seen him move his arm. It was just suddenly there.  
  
The remain's face quickly clenched in fury. His mouth opened and he shouted something forceful. He then brought his right arm down on the marble of the desk in front of him. Astonishingly, the marble exploded under his hit. The marble block instantly crumbled and cast a thin layer of dust into the air as it cracked. The guard stood with his weapon angled lower and a look of disbelief on his face. He lifted the gun again, no doubt to continue firing, but the remains sharply lifted his right arm still held over the broken tile of marble. The guard suddenly launched from where he was standing and flew across the lobby. He struck the far wall and jarred with the impact. The gun slipped from his fingers. He didn't fall to the floor, however. Not understanding why, the guard hung there a foot off the ground, seemingly attached to the wall. The remains slowly walked from around the station and across the floor toward the guard floating on the wall. Richard could now only see the remains from the rear but could still see that he spoke something to the guard while standing before him. The guard did not respond and only rolled his head deliriously from side to side. After a moment the remain's left arm shot up with incredible speed and griped the guard by the neck. Then, with just a flick of his wrist, he sent the guard sailing through the air back toward the guard station. Richard watched as he saw the guard make contact with the marble head first. The image made Richard flinch in pain and shock. A shower of blood sprayed from the guards head and onto the marble before slumping unmoving to the tiled floor.  
  
The remains watched the guard's body with heated anger flashing in his eyes. The muscles in his arms were clenched and his fingers were wrapped into fists at his side. He then looked off from the body and toward the front doors. Moving downward and off the lower edge of the left image, Richard watched on the right image for the remains to exit the building. To Richard's amazement, the front door suddenly burst from then hinges and out onto the concrete before the stairs. The glass from the doors and surrounding windows exploded outward in a shower of glinting light. The remains stepped out from the build through the broken glass. He seemed unworried about his feet being lacerated by the countless shards of glass. Seeing the outside, he stopped. Richard saw a look of confusion pass over the face of the remains. Scanning the stairs and the parking lot beyond, the remains calmly stepped down the steps and off the image. The image flickered to snow and then blacked out.  
  
Richard could do nothing but stare at the blank television in disbelief. This was insane. Those remains had been pulled out from under five hundred meters of solid ice. Richard had personally spent several hours in the same room with him performing tests and baffling over his very existence. Now those remains were up and walking around and, apparently, very angry.  
  
"As you can see," a voice came from behind him, "the remains were not stolen."  
  
Richard had been leaning back on the conference table and now stood and whirled around to face the voice.   
  
It was Jerry. He was standing calmly just inside the door with his hands inside his no doubt expensive black slacks. His face had a somber expression drawn. He seemed genuinely disturbed by the events Richard had just watched.   
  
His mind still reeling as he tried to grasp what was happening. Richard thrust is arm behind him to point at the television.  
  
"This is impossible," he almost shouted. "That body was extracted from ice that was over fifty-thousand years old."  
  
His voice began stammering.  
  
"H-He had no pulse. No brain activity. His metabolism was non-existent. There is no way he could suddenly wake up and walk out of the building!"  
  
Jerry continued to watch him calmly. His reply was barely audible.  
  
"And yet, he did."  
  
Richard lowered his head and held it with his hands.  
  
"I-I can't believe it," he stated meekly.  
  
"Fine," Jerry's tone was firm, "but your belief isn't a prerequisite for what actually is. Now, the reality of the situation is that we have a fifty-thousand year old man up and walking around who's searching for something and will apparently kill to get it."  
  
Richard looked up.  
  
"Searching for something?"  
  
Jerry scowled his disappointment at Richard.  
  
"Weren't you watching?" Jerry scolded. "Instead of killing someone when he first meets them, he was lifting he hand and asking for something."  
  
Remembering the first scene of the tape with Nancy and Michael, Richard recalled the remains lifting his right arm as if holding something and speaking to them. When they didn't answer, the remains became agitated and violent.  
  
Jerry continued.  
  
"We had a linguist take a look at the tape. Since there was no audio, he attempted to read the man's lips as he spoke. The linguist was certain that he was not speaking English though he had no idea what it was the man was speaking. The puzzled look that we saw on the faces of those he spoke to would collaborate this."  
  
Richard couldn't fathom what a man who lived over fifty-thousand years ago would be searching for in today's world. Or why he would want it so badly as to kill for it. Not just kill, that man knew what he was doing when he slaughtered the guards.   
  
The scene in the downstairs hallway sprang into Richard's mind and he recalled when the guards had fired upon the man and he had seemingly caught the bullets. Richard's eye snapped up toward Jerry.  
  
"What is he?"  
  
It was Jerry's turned to be confused. A look of puzzlement creased his brow.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked.  
  
"When he attacked the guards downstairs, they fired at him and I watched as he caught the bullets in his hand. And before that, I swear I saw him walk through a wall."  
  
Understanding washed over Jerry's face and his eyes dropped momentarily to the floor.   
  
"Well," he hesitated, "that depends on your beliefs in the preternatural."  
  
He raised his had back up to look at Richard.  
  
"The question is now, however, what is he searching for?"  
  
Richard's mind continued to boggle over the question. The idea that anyone from an era before civilization could be searching for something in these modern and superficial times was ridiculous.  
  
With sudden insight, Richard's eye's widened.  
  
"His weapon," Richard breathed.  
  
With a slight smile Jerry nodded.  
  
"Where is the dagger, Richard? I know that the Initiative never received it and that the men sent out to retrieve it never returned."  
  
Anger flashed over Richard and he raised and accusing finger toward Jerry.  
  
"You sent those men to kill me! I barley got away with my life!"  
  
Jerry didn't look phased by Richard's hatred.  
  
"I'm sorry, Richard. I had no other choice. The implications of your find were being felt way beyond what you understood. I would have had you killed as soon as you stepped off the plane here in Langley, but I need to know where that dagger is."  
  
Richard hadn't even thought about the weapon after his attack in the cemetery. He couldn't recall the weapon with him after the attack, after that evil with fangs.  
  
"I don't know where it is," Richard finally answered. "Your men attacked me in a cemetery and I dropped it. Then I was running for my life and I haven't seen it."  
  
"So the men from the Initiative where alive when you last saw them?"  
  
Richard remembered the fight and the gun fire, and the sick memory of thrusting the dagger into the spine of one of his attackers.  
  
"No," Richard answered, "there was a fight. Some Englishman arrived out of nowhere and began screaming at the two men you sent and then one was shot and the other…"  
  
Jerry waited, coolly watching him.  
  
Eyes dropping to the floor, Richard finally continued.   
  
"The Englishman killed the other," he lied.  
  
Richard felt Jerry's eyes on him and was certain the Jerry knew what had truly happened.  
  
"I see." He finally stated in his calm voice. "And the dagger?"  
  
Richard looked back up at Jerry, trying to recall exactly what happened.  
  
"The Englishman attacked me and I ran. I had dropped the dagger by then."  
  
"What did this Englishman look like?" Jerry asked.  
  
Richard shuddered at the image of the fanged beast with blonde hair. He still couldn't explain what he had seen and his denial kept him from mentioning the Englishman's gruesome visage to Jerry.  
  
"He was young and his hair was spiked and blonde."  
  
Jerry's faced twisted in a look of annoyance.   
  
"I see." He repeated.  
  
"What's going on here?" Richard asked. "You know more than you're telling me."  
  
Jerry didn't answer right away. Instead he watched Richard with his intense eyes as if he was gauging Richard and his resolve.  
  
"You're right." Jerry confirmed. "There is much more that you don't know. But now, that's not important."   
  
Jerry smirked.  
  
"At least, not important to you."  
  
Richard watched Jerry warily.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked.  
  
"The Initiative, Richard, they're after you. It seems that they don't much like someone killing their men. They've taken their deaths personally and I believe they're coming for you."  
  
Richard was shocked. He had never known anyone to wish him direct harm and now this phantom agency wanted him dead. Those two men in Sunnydale had attacked him first and Richard had killed only in self defense. Richard only felt shameful for having to kill that young man in the sweater but never regret for defending himself. Now, however, he wished that he had never gotten off the plane in Sunnydale.  
  
"They attacked me first, and on your orders! I don't even have any idea what the Initiative is?"  
  
"They were initially setup a few years back as a research facility." Jerry explained. "They're purpose was to research ways to suppress the actions of certain…"  
  
Jerry hesitated with his words, obviously not certain what he felt comfortable telling Richard. He finally smirked and completed his sentence.  
  
"Undesirables. They failed, however. The facilities were over-run and the agency was wiped out. We had yet to move in and claim the area. Eventually the agency was abandoned and left to rot. Then, a few months ago, we began getting reports again. They seemed to have suddenly gained control again and continued their work. We've had several conversations with them and they seemed to take and follow orders, however they won't allow an inspection of their compound. They state that after the incident that closed the agency more than a year ago, security is too important to allow it. Their work is progressing nicely, but they have become very protective and don't like it when one of their trusted and expensively trained workers is killed."  
  
"And now they want me dead?" Richard asked incredulously.   
  
"I believe so, yes." Jerry answered as calm as if they were speaking on the weather.   
  
Richard felt his knees grow week and he slumped down into one of the nearby chairs surrounding the conference table. The black leather felt cool under his fingers as he fell into its soft cushioning. Richard didn't notice this, however, as his mind was too busy trying to sort out everything that had happened in the last two days.   
  
"I can help you, Richard." Jerry spoke.  
  
Richard's head shot up and looked over at Jerry, a bit of hope in his eyes.  
  
"But I need that dagger." Jerry finished.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need you to head back to Sunnydale and retrieve the dagger before our friend, " Jerry nodded at the television behind Richard, "or the Initiative finds the weapon. Only then can I help you."  
  
"That's bullshit." Richard stated with anger. "You could help me now but you need someone to find that dagger."  
  
"That's correct. I'm glad you understand."  
  
Richard eye's flashed with malice.  
  
"You're the one who got me into this in the first place!" He almost shouted. "Why should I trust you?"  
  
Jerry's barren calmness didn't waver. Richard was frustrated with Jerry's lack of reaction. It was obvious that he knew who was in control in this situation.  
  
"Again, correct. No matter how this all started, Richard, you're still in the middle of it."  
  
He paused as Richard toiled with the truth Jerry had just given him.  
  
"Now, the Initiative has changed and we don't know exactly to what extent. They are curt and evasive with communications so we are not exactly certain what is going on over there. The only thing of which we can be sure is that they are more determined than ever to succeed this time and that their methods have become more ruthless. They will track you down and they will kill you. There is no doubt of that. They only thing you have left is time and it's slowly ticking away. I can help you, but you need to help me first. Return the dagger to me and I'll help you."  
  
Richard watched the table before him as Jerry talked. Thinking of something, his eye's popped up.  
  
"Why did you send the dagger with me to the Initiative in the first place if you don't want them to have it?"  
  
Jerry scowled at the question and his eyes looked away from Richard and toward the wall.  
  
"From the information I had, they were the best possible source for answers. I wasn't pleased with the idea of sending it to them, but I had no choice. Now, however, I realize they can't be trusted."  
  
He looked back toward Richard.  
  
"Will you help me?"  
  
Richard's eyes once again dropped to the black marble of the conference table. It looked as if he, too, was faced with a lack of options. Richard knew that there was no way that he could deal with the Initiative if they were coming for him. Only blind luck had saved him on his last encounter. Plus, there was now this walking menace from long ago free in the world. Richard realized that he wasn't in any way responsible for the deaths incurred by the remains he had been studying, but he still felt guilty at not knowing that something like this was going to happen. How could he, though? How could anyone have known?   
  
He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that this all hadn't happened. Richard wanted nothing more than to be resting comfortably in his bed in his cozy apartment and that his only care was the finalizing of paper work piling up on his little desk. Images of Nancy and Michael frozen against a wall in the lab flashed through his mind. Quickly following them were images of the splatters of blood and broken glass he had found later in that same room.  
  
Richard's eye's slowly opened and reality rushed back in.  
  
"Yes." He spoke meekly. 


	6. “I was just sleeping and they grabbed me...

Buffy walked the streets of Sunnydale for several hours after her fight with the vampire. She was confused, mostly. After she had calmed down and left the building where the fighting had occurred, it dawned on her the enormity of what had happened. She remembered her careless charge into a fight where she was obviously outnumbered and the zeal she felt believing that she was invincible. Thinking back, these creatures she ran into were some of the more fearsome she had encountered. They were well prepared and almost expecting her arrival. They fought well and the multitude of them should easily have overpowered her. They had not, however, and this had been as much of a shock to her now as it must have been to them.   
  
"The dagger." She thought.  
  
The eternally warm and scaly grip of the weapon pressed against her palm. She still held it in her right hand. It was comforting. She felt she had something in common with the weapon. As if it empathized with the life of killing that Buffy had been born into. There was a difference though; the dagger seemed to enjoy it. She felt crazy believing that the weapon had feelings of its own. It was a weapon, a device, a means to an end and nothing more. However, ever since she had first gripped it, she had felt it's presence like a like another person in the room. Perhaps a second pair of eyes watching her and experiencing her thoughts and feelings just as she did. This idea made her uncomfortable. The anguish she felt as a slayer was very personal to her. It was a link to her human weaknesses and she didn't like anyone else to see her vulnerability. Yet it was just a dagger.  
  
Buffy continued down the long dark street she found herself on. The cool night wafted around her, pulling breathes of smoky white from her lips. She walked with her eyes cast down in thought. Not really sure where she was headed, Buffy just walked onward, turning down this street or that alley as she came to it. The sky stood dark and unbroken above her. Neither the moon nor the stars looked down from the heavens.  
  
"Perhaps I should just get rid of the dagger." Buffy whispered to herself.  
  
The idea suddenly hurt her. She gasped her breathe and stopped in her tracks. The image of her dropping the dagger to the ground or throwing it deep into the night made her almost weep with loss. No, that was certainly not the answer. She just had to learn how to control it. The weapon gave her an advantage. She felt lithe and untouchable when she fought. Her strength had been greater and she had felt an unstoppable confidence. Her thoughts skirted around the memories of the pleasure she felt after slaying a vampire. She knew it was induced by the dagger as some type of reward and she felt even now the need to find another vampire to slay in order to feel the intense pleasure again. However, the intimacy of the feeling made her uneasy. She had only felt that type of sexual pleasure on a few precious occasions and never had it turned out the way she planned. Even so, those moments had always been accompanied by feelings of passion and desire for her partner. Now, though, its source was the dagger and her desire to kill. Still, she had to admit to herself that, despite its cause, she liked it.  
  
That realization made her blush and lower her head even further. She realized that it was probably pretty late and that she should head on home. Buffy lifted her head so she could look about and find out where exactly she was. With a startled jerk of her shoulders, she found someone standing before her.  
  
"Hello, love."  
  
Spike stood a few meters ahead of her at a street corner. He leaned to his right on a street lamp as he watched her.   
  
Anger flashed through Buffy. She felt as if Spike had intruded on her in a private moment. As if her thoughts were visible around her and he had just read them across her face. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and the dagger's handle cut into her palm.  
  
"What do you want, Spike?"  
  
Spike's eye's widened in a mock look of surprise.   
  
"What? No hello?" he spoke, standing up from the lamp post.  
  
"Spike, I'm tired. What do you want?" Buffy's voice plainly showed her annoyance.  
  
"You know," Spike reproached, sounding quite indignant, "after the favor I did for you, you'd think you'd show a bit more appreciation."  
  
Buffy looked baffled. "What favor?"  
  
"That weapon in your hand, where did you think it came from?"  
  
Buffy looked down at the dagger than back up at Spike.  
  
"This is yours?" she said in disgust.  
  
"Well, not quite mine," he answered, "but it was me that found it and brought it to you."  
  
Buffy was speechless. She hadn't even thought about the weapon's origins.  
  
"Damn thing nearly killed me." Spike muttered.  
  
"The person you took this from almost killed you with it?"  
  
Spike's brow clenched in annoyance.  
  
"I didn't take it from anyone." He sounded a bit offended. "I found it in my yard."  
  
Buffy was confused and her weariness made her moody. She was growing angry at Spike's obvious half-truths.  
  
"What's going on Spike? How did this knife almost kill you if you found it on the ground?" The anger in her voice alerted Spike that she was in no mood for his games.  
  
Spike straightened and took on a more serious demeanor. Lately, it was very important to him that Buffy appreciate his effort to help. Almost as if he was looking for her praise.  
  
"Look, two blokes were chasing down this one asshole through my cemetery late last night. I was trying to get a night's sleep and they were making a bloody racket. I came out to find out what the hell was going on and I find them beating the living daylights out of him. I ask them to stop cause they're keeping me up and they had the balls to take a shot at me. Well, after a short scuffle, they were on the ground I had their pretty knife."  
  
Buffy knew he was embellishing but at that moment she didn't care.   
  
"What happened to the guy they were chasing?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, him." Spike thought for a moment. "I believe the little bastard took off into the forest. No idea what happened to him."  
  
Buffy knew about the chip that the Initiative implanted in Spike's head so he obviously didn't fight those men himself. Generally, though, the story was probably true.  
  
"So, they attacked you with the dagger?" Buffy asked.  
  
"No. The one they were chasing had the dagger. He dropped it as he ran off."  
  
Confused, Buffy tilted her head to the side.   
  
"Then how did the dagger almost kill you?"  
  
Spike's eyes dropped to the paved sidewalk. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.   
  
"I'm not sure, but there is something off with that knife. When I picked it up, I started seeing all these images of my life before I met Angel and Dru. It was sad, and I almost wished I had never become a vampire. Next thing I knew, I have the blade pointed at my chest and about to shove it through my bloody heart."  
  
Buffy didn't hear him finish his statement. As soon as he reminded her that he was a vampire, the new familiar chiming of the dagger flooded into her mind. A cool sweat broke out on Buffy's forehead as she watched Spike. She could feel the sharp edge of the dagger as it curved up the metal of the blade. Images of the knife slashing deep into Spike's chest flashed before her eyes. Her jaw clenched as the desire to drive her dagger deep into Spike's heart began to overtake her. She wanted nothing more then to cut deeply into the demon before her and feel the pleasure's of victory wash over her body. Still, she didn't move. Locked frozen standing before Spike, she watched as a confused look passed over his brow. She could see him speaking, but the words were lost in the rising crescendo in her head.   
  
Finally no longer able to contain herself, Buffy lunged forward toward Spike. Not expecting the attack, Spike was barely able to fall backwards away from her. He quickly rolled to his feet and stood warily before the slayer. Buffy again saw him speaking, this time he looked even to be screaming at her, but she didn't care what he might be saying. She let the music drown out the entire world around her and focused her thoughts on slaying the wretched demon before her.  
  
She took another swipe toward his chest but, prepared this time, Spike deftly dodged her attack. Buffy continued to advance toward him, pushing them both across the street and toward the edge of a bridge over looking a concrete valley of the Sunnydale sewers. After a few steps, Spike felt the cool concrete of the bridge guardrail press into the small of his back. His eyes snapped back to see the great drop into darkness behind him. With him momentarily distracted, Buffy pressed her attack. Swiping with her weapon, she sliced Spike across his abdomen then darted forward to grasp him by his neck. Startled by Buffy's actions and her surprising speed, Spike found himself wounded and pinned back to the guard rail by her hold on his throat. Spike reached up and grasped the hand almost crushing his neck.  
  
Yes, she was the slayer and stronger than a normal human, but Spike knew his vampiric strength to be greater than hers. In a pure test of muscle, Spike knew he could over-power Buffy. Which is why he was surprised to find that he couldn't move her hand. It was like a grip of stone surrounding his neck and moving it felt like trying to shove aside a mountain.   
  
Buffy, stood over the demon with a wild thirst coursing through her. She wanted this demon dead and the reward that the dagger promised. She found herself locked, staring at the creature she had captured below her. He seemed familiar in some way, as if she had known him in some previous time. Buffy also realized that she had yet to strike. A few seconds had passed since she had gotten her controlling grip on his neck, yet the dagger in her hand hung in the air above her head, poised for striking. The weapon called out for the kill. She could tell that it wanted the sharp thrust into the chest of her enemies more even then she did. The music in her head had swelled to a deafening point and urged her onward toward the finish. She stayed motionless, though. Trapped like a statue with her prey writhing in helplessness below her, Buffy began to lose her murderous resolve. Flashes of familiarity echoed about her head as she examined the face of the demon before her. She was almost positive that she knew him.  
  
Suddenly, the musical chorus swimming through Buffy's head took on a more demanding tone. She could feel the anger and impatience of the dagger throbbing from its hilt. The weapon was angry. Denied its pleasure, the weapon ached to be satiated. Buffy could feel her control fading as the dagger began to press its will upon her. Her arm, raised to strike, began feeling heavy as an unseen forced pushed down on her. It was becoming more insistent as its force grew in strength. She could barely resist the urge to drop her hand and slice into Spike's heart.  
  
Spike!  
  
She remembered! He was a demon, but she felt him a friend. He had helped her before and she had saved his unnatural life on several occasions. She didn't want to kill this creature. He was a friend and though she would never admit it openly, Buffy knew that she enjoyed his company.  
  
Without warning, the images of only a few weeks ago flashed through her head. She saw herself with Spike in the condemned house making love. She saw herself writhing in the thralls of ecstasy with the walls crumbling around her and this demon below her.  
  
The dagger, feeling that its last holds on her were slipping, made a final push to control her actions. Pain shot through Buffy's skull as the demand for blood rushed in from the weapon. It demanded the death of the vampire demon and would kill her to get it.   
  
In a last moment of coherency, Buffy released her grip on Spike's neck and forcefully pushed on his chest. She watched in silence as he toppled backward over the edge of the guard rail. Watching him fall, she saw the look of shock frozen on his face as he disappeared into the darkness below.  
  
The music stopped.  
  
Like a rush of water, the night flooded back into her and a cool breathe of air filled her nostrils. She slid to her knees on the concrete sidewalk then turned and rested her back against the guard rail with her legs curled under her. She stared unseeing across the street before her and towards the shops on the other side. Sitting warm and quiet in her right had, the dagger now weighted nothing.  
Buffy arrived home several hours later. She didn't remember much of the walk home. Most of the time she had stared blindly down at the concrete beneath her feet, her mind lost in a haze of thought. She continuously ran her previous encounter with Spike through her head. She saw herself lose control as soon as the dagger found out he was a vampire. Apparently, it hadn't known until she remembered and the familiar company of Spike had overshadowed the fact that he was a vampire. Buffy had to consciously remind herself that he was a blood sucking fiend and that if it wasn't for the chip the Initiative had planted in his head, Spike would be more than happy to return to his old ways.  
  
What mostly unnerved Buffy was the extent that the dagger's desires controlled her. Once it took control, Buffy had been completely under its spell. Her view of Spike had instantly changed from the annoying yet familiar friend to a vicious demon of the night. The realization that anything could have that much control over her mind was frightening.  
  
No matter how fearful she was of the possibility of losing herself to the dagger, Buffy could not find it in herself to part with the weapon. Several times on the trip home, Buffy had found herself standing over a dumpster or trashcan with the intention of tossing the dagger in and walking away. Moments would pass, however, and nothing would happen. As she stared down at the weapon, thoughts of the speed and power it gave her would come to mind. She remembered being unstoppable against those demons in the small warehouse. The taste of power had been sweet on her tongue and she secretly craved more. Inevitably, Buffy would convince herself that she could handle the weapon's power and continue walking.  
  
Once she arrived home, Buffy entered though the back entrance and found the kitchen cool and dark. She was thankful to find no one around. A deep cloud of shame had developed during her walk and Buffy feared that it was plainly visible on her face. Silently stepping through the kitchen and toward the front of the house, she found the living room lights on and Dawn asleep in her night shirt on the couch. As usual, Buffy was happy to see her little sister. However, there was guilt from returning home so very late. It was obvious that Dawn had waited up for her but had finally succumbed to sleep.  
  
Deciding to let Dawn remain sleeping on the couch, Buffy quietly clicked off the living room lights and began climbing the stairs up to the second floor. Halfway up, Buffy heard the stairs groan under her weight. She froze, hoping that the sound hadn't awoken Dawn. Waiting in silence for a few seconds, Buffy continued up the steps. After only a few steps, Buffy heard a voice from below.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
It was Dawn.  
  
Buffy sighed; apparently sharpened senses was a family trait.  
  
"Yes, it's me." Buffy replied.  
  
Dawn walked into view at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
"I waited up for you," she stated. "You were out pretty late."  
  
Buffy looked at the base of the stairs but wasn't able to look up into her sisters face.  
  
"Yeah, I had a couple of goons to deal with. Sorry, I should have called."  
  
"It's okay," Dawn replied, opening her mouth in a yawn as she spoke. She stretched her arms out behind her and started up the stairs, "I was just worried."  
  
Buffy smiled weakly.   
  
"I know. Don't worry, I'm okay."  
  
Buffy then turned to continue up the stairs. She felt her weariness growing and the thought of her warm bed upstairs was very inviting.   
  
"What's that?" Dawn asked from below.  
  
Buffy turned back toward her.   
  
"What?"  
  
"That, in your hand."  
  
Buffy lowered her head to look down at the hand to which Dawn was referring. Buffy saw the dagger sitting in the tight grip of her right hand. The weapon's blade shown brightly, even in the dim light of the stairs.   
  
"Oh…uh?" Buffy stammered, "it just a dagger. You know, those vamps can be pretty nasty."  
  
"Isn't that the dagger Anaya found this morning?"  
  
Dawn seemed only curious, but Buffy felt the question as more of an accusation.  
  
"Yeah, but its okay, I just wanted to see how well it worked." Buffy answered quickly.  
  
Dawn, obviously sensing Buffy on the defensive, suddenly looked confused.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy answered, trying to sound normal. "I'm okay, it was just a long night."  
  
Even as Buffy thought about it, flashes of the previous evening raced across her mind. Again she saw Spike falling backwards off the bridge. She remembered seeing him disappear into the darkness below without a sound and knowing at the time that she could probably have followed him over the edge and finished the job that the dagger desired. As she thought about it, Buffy heard the dagger's sweet chiming sing quietly in the back of her mind. Buffy quickly closed her mind off from the thoughts of Spike, afraid that if she dwelled on it long enough, she would soon go looking for him.  
  
"Where is that coming from?" Dawn suddenly spoke, breaking Buffy out of her thoughts.  
  
"Where is what coming from?" Buffy asked, happy to be thinking of something else.  
  
"That music," Dawn answered as she looked around.  
  
Buffy's eyes shot open as she starred down the few steps toward her younger sister. Fear griped her spine and the chiming of the dagger was drown out.  
  
"Oh, it's gone now." Dawn spoke. "Dunno what that was."  
  
Buffy watched silently as her sister walked up the stairs past her.  
  
Could everyone hear the music? Buffy thought. I thought it was only in my head, but I swear Dawn just heard it.  
Dawn awoke in the middle of the night. She found herself staring straight up toward the ceiling of her bedroom and she realized that her heart was racing. Sweat trickled across her forehead and onto her pillow. Her bed sheets and comforter were pulled up to her neck and her two hands held the fabric so tightly that her knuckles had become white.  
  
At first, she was confused. She thought that she had heard something which caused her to wake, but now she wasn't sure if what she heard was real or if it had been part of her dream. At the thought of her dream, Dawn shivered. Trying to recall what she had dreamt, Dawn found that she couldn't recall anything but a few fleeting images. Those images were disturbing. She saw herself running, being chased by some unseen menace. She saw Buffy crouched on the floor, crying with blood covering her hands and some type of dark robed figure bent over her and whispering in her ear. Then the sound of something breaking permeated her dreams and abruptly brought her back to consciousness. She wasn't certain, however, that the sound had not come from the chilling dreamland she had been caught up in a few moments before.  
  
Water.  
  
The thought came to her clearly through the haze of just waking. Kicking the sheets and comforter off from her, Dawn stood from bed and quietly walked over to her bedroom door in her night shirt. Sweat continued to run down her face as Dawn found her room almost as hot and stuffy as it had been under her covers. Reaching the door, Dawn gently turned the knob and swung the door inwards. A blast of cool air rushed in from the hallway beyond. Dawn sighed at the contact of the brisk air. Stepping from her room, Dawn looked up and down the hallway. To her left was two other doors, both were closed. One lead into Buffy's room and the other into the room Willow occupied. To her left was the door into the second floor's only bathroom and beyond that was the top of the stairs down to the living room.  
  
The kitchen.  
  
Again, the thought was clear and distinct in her mind. She began stepping quietly toward the stairs, puzzled at why she wanted to go downstairs when she knew the bathroom had a glass just for these night time thirsts. Giving the thought only a passing moment, Dawn reached the top of the stairs and stepped down the first stair.   
  
She stopped.   
  
In the back of her mind, a quiet chiming began to play. She recognized the song. It was similar to the one she had heard this afternoon at the magic shop and then earlier tonight after Buffy had come home.   
  
She thought she heard it coming from down the hall behind her.   
  
She really wanted to find its source.  
  
Forgetting her thirst, Dawn stepped back up the stair and began to make her way down the hallway. She had only taken a few steps when her thirst returned, worse than before.  
  
Water.  
  
The chiming diminished and sung dimly in the back of her mind.  
  
A glass of water from the kitchen would be splendid.  
  
Though she agreed with the thought, she thought the wording was strange. She couldn't remember the last time she used the word "splendid."  
  
Turning on her heel, Dawn again approached the stairs. As soon as she placed her fingers upon the banister, the chiming music again flooded her mind. This time, the music sang almost urgently, as if it needed her and desperately wanted to find her. Deciding that her thirst could wait until she found the source of this chiming, Dawn walked back down the hallway and past the door to her room. The music became more distinct as she approached Buffy's door. Certain that she chiming was coming from inside her sister's room, Dawn stepped up the door and gently placed her ear to the wood.  
  
As she listened for sounds of her sister awake, the need for water again asserted itself. She felt the thirst pull at the back of her throat and her tongue felt dry.  
  
Water.   
  
This time, however, the now familiar thought was barely audible above the chiming song in her head and Dawn decided to get a glass of water from the kitchen after she checked Buffy's room.  
Once she had said goodnight to Dawn and checked in to find Willow asleep in her room, Buffy had come into her room and quickly closed the door behind her. The dagger still played its delicate chiming in her head and whispered ideas of slaying and reward in her mind. Trying her best to ignore the weapon, Buffy quickly began changing her clothes for bed. Buffy found it awkward to remove her pants with the dagger in her hand. The small buttons holding the waist of her jeans closed gave her a bit of difficultly and she shuddered as the thought of just slicing them off her skin flashed through her head. Finally getting them off, she then reached for the waist of her shirt and began to pull it up and over her head. After the shirt was off her head and she could see again, she began to pull it off her arms but found that she couldn't pull the tight sleeves over the dagger. She tried several ways, of course, but the weapon was too large and covered with jagged edges to fit safely through the tight sleeve. There was no way she could find to pull the shirt off her arm with out harming it. The idea that she could sleep with the shirt still over her arms popped into her head, but rational thinking interceded and suggested that she just put the dagger down for a moment and remove the shirt. The idea was almost horrifying. Still, though, Buffy couldn't think of a better way.  
  
Standing in her room in just her bra and panties with her pink shirt draped over her right arm and a large dagger gripped in her right hand, Buffy began searching her room for hidden intruders. The fear that someone might be waiting in the room to grab the weapon as soon as she dropped it forced her to thoroughly check everywhere. After crawling under her bed and digging through her closet and finding no one, Buffy decided it was a safe as possible to set the weapon down. Buffy stood over her bed and drew in the deep breath, preparing herself. Then, she gently laid the weapon down the on the bed. After her hand was off the dagger's handle, she whipped the shirt off her arm with a jerk. Buffy then reached to the floor and snatched up her night shirt and sweats. With a panicked urgency, she yanked each on over her skin. Before the fabric had settled on her body, Buffy snatched the dagger off the bed covers. Standing there looking down at the weapon in her hands, Buffy felt her heart racing and her jaw painfully clenched. Even so, a wave of relief washed over her. She had the weapon in her hands again…everything was fine.  
  
Pulling the comforter and sheets down, Buffy crawled into the bed and gently laid her right hand still holding the dagger on the pillow in front of her head. Soon she was asleep.  
  
However, she did not sleep for long. Her head swam with images of the night's patrolling. She remembered the old vampire she had fought in the storage room and how easily she had bested him. He had to have been at least as old and the elder master vampire she had fought several years ago, but this victory had been easy. She then remembered her short fight with Spike in the open streets. Buffy had easily over-powered the seasoned vampire. She had almost killed him.  
  
Buffy awoke to the sound of someone at her bedroom door. Buffy was facing the door as she watched the knob turn. Sliding backwards out of her bed, Buffy bounded over her mattress and to the side of the door with almost no sound.   
  
She had been expecting this. The dagger was too precious and too powerful not to have someone desiring it. She knew that eventually someone would come looking for the weapon. Buffy wouldn't let them take it, however. It was hers and she would kill to keep it.   
  
Waiting at the side of the door, Buffy watched the door knob slowly turn until it clicked. Then the door began to swing inwards. Buffy stood poised just behind the wood. She watched the doors leading edge as it swung away from the wall. After opening only part way, she saw the head of the thief inch out around the doors edge. Waiting until she saw the eyes of her would-be assailant, Buffy snapped her hand around the door and grabbed the intruder by the throat. She heard a muffled cry try to escape her hold, but only a slight rasp echoed in the dark room. Pulling the intruder into the room, Buffy drug him behind her across the floor and then threw him onto the bed. Jumping on top of the dark shape that lay coughing and clutching had its throat, Buffy raised the dagger above her head to strike. As it rose on its deadly course, the daggers perfect blade caught a streak of moonlight shining in from outside. The light reflected downward and over the face of the would-be thief.  
  
Dawn!  
  
Buffy recognized the smooth, round face of her baby sister. Shocked, Buffy jumped to her feet.  
  
Sliding off the bed and onto her knees on the floor, Dawn struggled to catch her breath. Buffy continued to stare down at her sister with wide eyes.  
  
Could she have been after my dagger? Buffy thought.  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn was finally able to speak after a few attempts to draw a breath.  
  
Suddenly remembering what she had done to her own sister, Buffy crouched down next to Dawn.  
  
"I'm so sorry." She spoke desperately. "I thought you were an intruder."  
  
Dawn looked up at Buffy with anger. She then reached up and smacked Buffy on her shoulder.  
  
"You didn't even look! You just grabbed me!" Dawn shouted.  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you!"  
  
"You didn't even look and you almost killed me!" Dawn shouted as she jumped to her feet.  
  
Buffy stood next to her.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry."   
  
Buffy grasped her sister's shoulder.  
  
"Please. Things have been kinda weird and you woke me from a crazy dream. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."  
  
Dawn shook Buffy's hand from her shoulders and stepped away.  
  
"I get up because I'm really fucking thirsty and I hear this-"  
  
Her voice was cut off by a shrill female scream coming from outside the room.  
  
Both Dawn and Buffy looked toward the door which lead out into the hallway.  
  
"Willow." Buffy breathed.  
  
Bolting to her bedroom door, Buffy grabbed the knob and almost tore the door off its hinges as she swung it open. The hallway outside was dark and Willow's adjacent door was closed. Buffy charged Willow's door and tried to open it. With a loud thud, her weight slammed into the wood. She found that even though the knob turned the door would not move. It wouldn't even budge and stood firm and resilient to any pressure she applied.   
  
Inside the room and beyond the door in front of her, Buffy heard the breaking of wood and glass. There was and echoing boom and another scream. This voice had not been Willow's.  
  
"Willow!" Buffy screamed.  
  
She took a step back from the door and kicked at the wood with all her strength. She made contact but it held firm. It was like kicking at a stone wall. Buffy was baffled and becoming frantic with getting inside to help her friend. Out of desperation, Buffy ran at the door with the dagger braced out before her. The dagger struck the door just next to its knob and slid in up to the hilt as if into water. There was a bright flash from the wood of the door and Buffy felt a small electric sting from the blades handle. A moment later, Buffy's momentum had the door shattered and her stumbling into the room.  
  
The scene she found inside was complete chaos.  
  
Willow stood on her bed and up against the wall in her sweat pants and t-shirt. Her hands glowed with a faint white nimbus. At the foot of the bed stood a man in army fatigues with a large knife in his right hand and a series of cuts across the right side of his face. The wall behind him was blackened and burnt and on the floor lay another body in fatigues. Across the bed from Buffy stood a third unknown figure, this one in blue jeans and a black shirt. He wore a tight black coat over his shoulders. Resting on his forehead and under his temple length dirty blonde hair, Buffy saw a metallic glimmer across his skin.   
  
All eyes were currently locked on her as she burst into the room. The man in the black coat had a particular look of surprise on his face.  
  
Everyone stood in place for a moment watching for the intentions of this new intruder into the room. The man in the black coat then quickly snapped his palm up to face Buffy and muttered a single word. As Buffy saw light flare from the man's hands, she heard the familiar song of her dagger rush into her mind. Diving to the side and toward the man in fatigues at the foot of Willow's bed, Buffy heard the rush of fire and felt a streak of heat fly past her. In mid-dive, Buffy clipped the man in fatigues on his neck and she and her target felt backwards to the floor.   
  
Above Buffy on the bed, Willow shouted.  
  
"Burn!"   
  
Willow's hands flared with light and an arc of flame shot from her extended hands and toward the man in black. The man stood unflinching as the fire struck an invisible barrier between them and splashed across the floor. The fire died harmlessly without igniting their surroundings.  
  
Buffy jumped to her feet and found the man in fatigues already up and advancing on her. Thinking that the blow to his neck should have killed him, Buffy was surprised to see him up and moving. He swiped at Buffy's stomach with his large knife but she easily parried and sliced him across his forearm. The man didn't flinch and thrust at her again. Realizing that her attacker wasn't human, Buffy moved back to dodge the attack. Forgetting the already prone body that lay behind her, Buffy tripped when her heel hit the charred form. Loosing her balance, Buffy stumbled backwards. Her assailant pressed her moment of weakness and rushed forward with his weapon. Buffy quickly caught her balance and rolled to the side. She came to her feet at the side of the bed in time to dodge another swipe of the man's dagger. Her attacker stepped forward to again try and stab her, but Buffy quickly stepped into his attack and swung her weapon up and toward his chin. The blade slid home and the weapon's tip burst from the top of his head. The man's body twitched and then slumped forward. Buffy jerked the dagger from the man's skull and stepped out of his way as he fell to the floor.   
  
She turned to the bed to see the man in black reaching over the bed toward Willow. Willow dodged his grasp by jumping to the side, but lost her balance on the bed and toppled forward onto the mattress. Buffy's tried to advance on the last intruder but was blocked by Willow's fall. The man in black grabbed Willow by her leg and began to drag her off the bed and toward a window behind him. Buffy saw the window's glass was broken but hadn't remembered hearing it break. The man had Willow half off the bed when she suddenly flipped over and grabbed his extended wrist.  
  
"Pain!" she shouted.  
  
Yellow arcs of electricity sprung up the man's arm and he screamed in agony. He was thrown clear of the bed and to the far wall under the window, losing his grip on Willow. Buffy used the confusion to spring across the bed and down on the man in black. As her feet reached the floor in front of him and she was ready to spring toward his death, the man in black again lifted his hand toward her and muttered another unintelligible word. Expecting to be dodging another ball of fire, Buffy was suddenly surprised to find herself flying back across the room and into the far wall with a heavy crunch. She felt the wind knocked from her lungs as she dropped to the floor.  
  
Buffy pulled herself to her feet in time to see the man in black escape out the window.  
Buffy ran to the window and stuck her head through the curtains. She saw nothing but the blackness of night and the pavement of the street in front of the house.  
  
Who ever he was, he knows how to make an escape. Buffy thought.  
  
Instead of following him out the window, Buffy withdrew back into the room to check on Willow.  
  
Willow was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the window. Her face looked flushed and she was drawing each breathe in excited gasps.  
  
"Are you okay?" Buffy asked her.  
  
Willow looked up at her with calm eyes. Though being attacked was always a stressful feeling, over the years Willow had become used to danger jumping out at her from the darkness and had learned how to keep herself calm when in trouble.  
  
"I think so." She responded.  
  
"What the hell happened?" Buffy asked with a questioning look.  
  
"I dunno." Willow shrugged. "I was sleeping and these guys tried to grab me out of my bed."  
  
"I'm just glad Tara wasn't here." Willow continued.  
  
Tara had been away for a few days. She had received a phone call earlier in the week and found out an old friend had died. The next day, Tara was on a plane to central United States. Willow had offered to go with her, but Tara insisted on not bothering anyone and going alone.   
  
"The one guy with the hair kept saying something to me," she continued, "but I couldn't make it out. Plus, I was busy beating on the other guys and not really listening."  
  
She then looked behind her at the dark scorch mark on the wall and the brunt corpse on the floor.  
  
"Then I blasted one and they backed off. That when you came in."  
  
Buffy walked over to the charred body and rolled him over onto his back. A large blackened whole stood gaping in his chest. The man's eyes were rolled back into his head.  
  
"That must have hurt." She stated.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
The voice was Dawn's. She stood at the entrance to Willow's room.  
  
"Some guys," Buffy said, gesturing at the men on the floor, "broke into Willow's room and tried to take her."  
  
Eyes wide with shock, Dawn asked, "Take her where?"  
  
Buffy looked up at Willow.  
  
"I dunno." Willow responded emphatically. "I was just sleeping and they grabbed me."  
  
"Well," Buffy scowled down at the blackened corpse, "we're not safe here. We better head on over to the Magic Shop."  
  
"What about these?" Dawn asked, nodding at the bodies.  
  
Buffy again frowned at the two bodies. "I dunno, we usually don't have to deal with the wet works. Vampires kinda take care of themselves." She was half speaking to herself.  
  
"Well," she said, her head snapping up, "we can't stay here so we'll put them in the cellar for now and get rid of them later." 


	7. Buffy borken

After the three girls had dragged the bodies down into the seller and dumped them into a large freezer, they quickly dressed and were out the door. Once out in front of the house, they found a large circle of burnt grass on the front lawn. Buffy examined the mark and discovered a set of foot prints leading away from the circle and toward the house. None of them was sure what the circle meant, but they were sure it had something to do with this evening's intrusion. They left the house and began making their way down the dark streets of Sunnydale on foot. It was more than an hour before the sun would begin to lighten the eastern sky and the cool air of the night chilled them in their haste.  
  
They traveled the streets briskly, but remained at the walk. Conversation was light and nothing more than necessary. Willow still seemed a little spooked over her near kidnapping and often followed Buffy and Dawn while staring at the sidewalk before them. Dawn was happy to be out and about with her friends. It wasn't often that she was allowed to participate with the Scoobies in their activities and Dawn was secretly grateful for the circumstances.   
  
Buffy, however, was distracted. It was hard concentrating on the path to the Magic Shop. As she walked, every so often the sweet chiming of the dagger's music was creep into her head and begin pulling her in a different direction. Buffy knew this pull was the dagger sensing a vampire and trying to draw Buffy toward the prey. It was difficult for her to resist. She could feel the music seeping under her skin and through her blood. It craved for action….sharp, decisive action. The music flowed through her mind and sung of her rewards for succumbing to the daggers wishes. The memory of her lying on floor of that small storeroom writhing in pleasure flashed through her head. Her legs ached from the memory of only a few hours ago. She could be there again, awash in the rapture of her reward. All she had to do was follow the pull of the dagger and partake in the dance of battle she already knew she enjoyed.  
  
Buffy stopped suddenly and grasped her head between her hands. The dagger still sat in the palm of her right hand and the warm handle of the weapon now pressed against the side of her head. It throbbed with power. All she had to do was let go and follow the dagger's command. It would be so easy…and so sweet…  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
The voice was Willow's.  
  
The cool night air rushed back in and Buffy sharply lifted her head. Before her stood Willow and Dawn. They had the look of concern wrinkling their brows.  
  
The chiming of the music died off but did not retreat. It lulled her with ideas from the back of her mind.  
  
"Are you alright?" Willow asked.  
  
"What?" Buffy heard herself respond. She then shook her head and looked back up at her friend.  
  
"Yeah," she said, "I'm fine. I…I just thought I heard something.  
  
"Is that why you yelled?" Dawn asked.  
  
Yelled?  
  
"What?"  
  
"You screamed and grabbed your head. I thought something was happening to you." Dawn explained.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Buffy was confused. She didn't remember screaming.  
  
"I'm okay." Buffy finally responded. "I'm just…tired."  
  
"Uh…okay." Dawn said, not looking convinced.   
  
Buffy then gave a weak smile and continued past her friends and down the street.  
Finally reaching the street the Magic Shop resided on, the Buffy, Willow, and Dawn made their way down the wide sidewalk toward the shop. Once within site of the store, Buffy stopped the girls with a harsh word and pulled them back into a dark doorway.  
  
"What is it?" Willow asked.  
  
"Someone's in the shop." Buffy answered still looking down the sidewalk toward the store.  
  
Looking toward the store's entrance, Willow saw that the lights were on.  
  
"Maybe it's Anya." Willow suggested.  
  
"This early?" Buffy asked. "I don't think so."  
  
"Well, what do we do?" Dawn asked.  
  
"I guess we'll just have to see who it is?" Buffy answered.  
  
Stepping quietly from the shadows, the three girls made their way cautiously toward the shop's front door.  
  
Buffy was worried that the long haired man that had escaped back at their house had found his way here. Thinking back on the encounter, Buffy knew there was something different about him. She had felt it when she had first seen him. Buffy was almost certain that the man was a witch. She had felt that vibe of latent power that she usually felt with Willow or Tara, only it had been different, more structured.  
  
Feeling the ever-warm handle of the jagged blade in her hand, Buffy was reassured that she could handle whatever this new witch might send at her. She no longer heard gentle chiming of the blade's song in her head, however. Its absence was unsettling.  
  
Reaching the shop's front door, Buffy found that it was still broken from the previous night's mysterious break-in. Buffy quietly nudged the door open. Peeking through the crack, Buffy at first saw nothing but the far counter and its register. All the lights were on, however nothing looked out of place. Then, entering from the stores back room, Buffy spotted Anya. She wore a large shirt and a pair of sweat pants. Her hair was a mess. Anya didn't look frightened or upset but she did look busy with something. Releasing a sigh of relief, Buffy realized that Anya was just here unordinarily late. Jumping to her feet, Buffy swung the door open and stepped inside.   
  
Anya jumped, startled by Buffy's sudden entrance.   
  
"Its okay," Buffy called behind her to Dawn and Willow. "It's just Anya."  
  
"What are you doing here?" Anya asked indignantly as Willow and Dawn stepped past Buffy and into the store.  
  
"We should ask you the same thing," Willow responded.  
  
Buffy followed into the store and closed the door behind her. As she turned to address Anya, she felt the familiar chiming begin echoing again in the back of her mind. Able now recognize the senses of her weapon, Buffy realized that the dagger was excited about something.  
  
"Who else is here?" she asked Anya as she scanned the front room.  
  
Anya opened her mouth, about to answer. She stopped short of speaking, however, and glanced down at the weapon in Buffy's hand. Instead of answering Buffy, Anya turned her head toward the door to the back room.  
  
"Xander!" she called out.  
  
Moments later Xander walked in from the back room. He was wearing his normal jeans and grey shirt. His hair was also unkempt like Anya's and he looked as hurriedly dress as she did.  
  
"Buffy." He mumbled upon seeing her, his eyes widening slightly.  
  
"What's going on her? Why are you guys here so early." Buffy asked, crossing the room yet keeping an eye on the door to the back room.  
  
"Well, Spike woke us." He answered.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy asked, startled.  
  
The chiming in her head grew in strength. She recalled her attack on Spike from only a few hours ago and images of his frightened face flashed before her. Last she had seen him, Spike was falling into the darkness below the bridge just after she had pushed him over the side.  
  
"Yeah, he stopped by, banging on our door. He looked pretty beat up." Xander looked down from Buffy's eyes to the dagger in her right hand.  
  
"He said you did it." Xander stated, looking back up towards her.  
  
Buffy stood there, looking at Xander. He seemed tense and a bit nervous. Buffy had seen him glance down at her weapon. Anya had done the same only moments before.  
  
Are they after my weapon? Buffy thought. Why would they be after it? They had no idea of its power.  
  
"Spike also said that he was the one that broke in," he nodded toward the shop's front door, "and left the dagger here."  
  
Buffy just watched him, muscles tense. The chiming flowed through her thoughts, raising questions and ideas that she didn't want to acknowledge. She loved her friends. They had been through a lot together and had saved each other more often then she could count.  
  
The room had grown quiet. Everyone felt a tension rising between Buffy and Xander. She seemed locked in place, wound up like an animal waiting to pounce.  
  
Her constant, level stare on Xander was beginning to make him uncomfortable. Beads of sweat began forming on his brow.  
  
"He said that there was something…odd about that dagger." He swallowed. "Something dangerous."  
  
"Really?" Buffy answered, still not looking away from him.  
  
They did know! Buffy thought.  
  
Her mind was becoming frantic. She didn't believe that her friends would try and take the weapon from her. But the worry that they might try began to grow. She didn't want to hurt them, but she needed this dagger. It was hers and made her a better slayer than she had ever been. If they tried to take it, she was afraid she might have to hurt them.   
  
"Yes, he said that it almost killed him." Xander spoke.  
  
No one moved. All eyes watched Buffy as she stood in the middle of the shop, weapon in her hand. Her muscles stood clenched. Her breathing had quickened and began to grow more labored.   
  
"She attacked me with it!" Dawn suddenly whispered from behind Buffy.  
  
Buffy's head snapped around toward Dawn.  
  
"What?" Willow asked, confused.  
  
Dawn began to slowly back away from Buffy's hard gaze.  
  
"R-Right before those guys tried to grab you…she…she attacked me with the knife."  
  
"I didn't attack you!" Buffy yelled, causing Dawn to flinch. "You came into my room. I thought you were trying to steal my…."  
  
"Your what?" Xander asked, as he inched forward toward the Slayer.  
  
"Well…you shouldn't have been in there!" Buffy shouted at Dawn.  
  
"Look, Buffy," Xander spoke calmly as he slowly continued to inch toward Buffy, "just put the dagger down and we'll talk about it."  
  
Buffy looked over at Xander then turned toward Willow.  
  
"I'd never hurt her." She stated toward Willow, almost pleading. "You know that, right?"  
  
Willow stood confused, she wasn't certain what was happening but she felt that something was wrong. She remembered the look on Buffy's face as she had left the previous evening with that dagger in hand. It had only been a moment or two after Buffy had collapsed while training with the weapon. Willow hadn't felt good about letting Buffy leave with the weapon, but she trusted Buffy when she said she was okay. Now she regretted that decision.  
  
Willow also recalled Buffy's odd behavior on their way over her tonight. When Buffy had screamed, Willow had felt a tortured pain in her friends voice.  
  
"Of course," Willow finally answered, "but maybe you should listen to Xander."  
  
Buffy looked stricken, as if Willow had just physically hit her.  
  
Then, dropping her eyes to the ground, Buffy seemed to sigh and relax her muscles.   
  
"I should have killed Spike. Then he wouldn't have reached you guys."  
  
"But you didn't," Xander stated, "and that's good, surprisingly."  
  
"Yeah, he's healing pretty quickly from the fall." Anya spoke, gesturing to the door to the back room behind Xander.  
  
The chiming in Buffy's head suddenly rose to a deafening crescendo, the weapon began to again to assert is will over her. Buffy now knew that Spike, a vampire, was nearby and the dagger wanted him slain. The shift in sound stung her eyes and she bent over clutching her head in pain. In her anguish, Buffy cried out.  
  
"Buffy!" Willow shouted.  
  
Willow ran forward to her friend and crouched next to her. She reached to comfort Buffy when she suddenly flew backwards and slammed against a bookcase of bottles on a nearby wall. Buffy's arm extended from her side from where she had tossed the young witch. Still grasping her head in pain with her right hand, Xander leapt forward and tried snatching the dagger from the Slayers hand. Buffy reacted with surprising swiftness and lashed out at him with the dagger hilt. The metal pommel cracked Xander square above his forehead and he collapsed backwards onto the floor.   
  
Buffy heard Dawn scream and Anya shout Xander's name. She ignored them, however, she knew that prey was close. She could almost smell it.  
  
Glancing only momentarily at her friends now limp form on the floor, Buffy turned and almost flew across the room toward the door to the shop's back room and disappeared through the opening.   
In the back room, Spike had been laying on a small couch. He had taken several injuries when landing at the bottom of the canyon Buffy had pushed him into. After crawling back up to the street, he had found that Buffy was gone. He had been certain that she had attacked him only because of the dagger she had been holding. He knew it was dangerous when he had left it at the shop. He had expected them to realize it too, but apparently he had been mistaken. Still, he didn't expect the Slayer to come after him with it. He had then hobbled his way over to Xander and Anya's place and sat at their front door for an hour banging until they finally woke up. After hearing his story, Xander didn't believe Spike. Anya, however, told both of them about Buffy's collapsed after training with the weapon. Still not completely convinced, Xander agreed to go with Spike and Anya to the Magic Shop so Anya could do a bit more research about the weapon.  
  
Now, however, Spike sat in the back of the store room behind a desk. He had heard Buffy's voice outside and then listened as the situation spiraled out of control. Still weakened and limping from his previous encounter with the Slayer, Spike hobbled to the back of the store and to hopefully a safer location.  
  
He then heard the shouts from the other room and the crashing as something large and wooden was broken. Watching the door to the front room from behind the desk, Spike ducked his head back down when he saw Buffy charge into the room with the knife held up before her. He had seen her eyes and they were filled with rage. Spike knew what she was here for; he supposed the dagger had found a way to kill him after all.  
Richard slipped his house key into the lock and unlocked the deadbolt to his front door. It had been more than a day since he had been home and he was weary from travel. Jerry had warned him not to return home. He said that the Initiative might have people waiting for him there. Richard didn't care at the moment.   
  
He had spent his journey home in stunned silence. The world didn't seem so clear to him anymore and everything seemed to be rushing forward as if in a dream. Richard suspected that he was slipping into denial and that he was drowning out his own emotions to keep himself from simply collapsing in fear. Thank goodness for the logic of self delusion.  
  
Fumbling with the rest of the locks, Richard finally swung the door inward. A cool rush of air drifted past him from the darkness before him. He stepped into his small living room and flipped the light switch to his right. Richard expected the light across the room to come on, but instead the light seemed to be coming from the floor. As his eyes adjusted, Richard scanned the room in emotionless silence.   
  
Everything was trashed. His bookcases were empty and their contents were spread across the floor. The drawers of the desk next to the front door had been removed and their contents dumped out. The cushions of his couch had been torn to pieces and their innards thrown about the room. The curtains of the far windows had been torn from the wall and swung loosely from the window sills. Papers lay everywhere and his hanging pictures had been stripped from the walls and smashed. Glass lay everywhere glittering in the dim light.  
  
After a moment, Richard closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. He closed his eyes and tried to wish the world away. He didn't even want to look at the rest of the rooms in his apartment. He knew that everything he had would have been broken or smashed like he had seen here. There was really no reason for him to stay.  
  
He had lost control. He had become a puppet. Not even that, he was an automaton. A valueless pawn to be maneuvered then discarded when he had served his usefulness. He felt empty.  
  
With his eyes closed, images of the security tape he had seen earlier flashed through his mind. Richard opened his eyes against the gruesome sights. He couldn't close his eyes without thinking of the violent mystery he had unleashed upon the world. Having made up his mind not long after talking to Jerry, Richard believed that the deaths of his team members were solely his own fault. He should have known. He should have not let himself become distracted with the knife and Jerry's request and he should have continued to research the remains. Richard felt that he would have found something, he was certain.  
  
Not that it mattered now. They were dead and he probably would be soon.   
  
But he wasn't yet.  
  
Richard quickly left his apartment and hurried down stairs to his car. As he left, the door to his apartment hung open and unsecured. Richard hadn't bothered to lock it; he didn't expect to be back.  
Xander woke to find Anya leaning over him. There was a sharp pain above his eye and a warm sensation running down his neck. His head swam with pain and the dim light of the store seared his eyes. He couldn't remember exactly why he was lying on the floor or where his pain came from, but he had this anxious feeling in his gut, as if he needed do something and quickly.  
  
He saw that Anya was saying something, or, at least, that her lips were moving. But he couldn't make out the words through the pain in his head. Turning his neck to the side, Xander saw Dawn shaking the form of Willow lying on the pile of a broken bookcase. Willow wasn't responding and this seemed to agitate Dawn. Xander remembered that it was late after midnight. He wondered what Dawn was doing here so late. Buffy would be upset if she knew.  
  
With the thought of Buffy, Xander's memory came flooding back to him. Jerking his head back up towards Anya, his head cleared enough for him to understand her.  
  
"Xander?" she was calling. "Are you okay?"  
  
She sounded concerned and a look of worry had filled her eyes.  
  
"Yeah?" he responded, sitting up on his elbow.   
  
With the movement, the pain in his head swelled anew.  
  
"Check on Willow." He said, gripping his forehead with his other hand.  
  
As Anya stood to and stepped toward Willow's still unresponsive form. A large crash came from the backroom. They all heard Buffy yelling, but the sound was unintelligible. She just seemed to be shouting out of rage.  
  
Slowly rising to his feet, Xander made his way to the doorway into the backroom. He found Buffy tossing furniture left and right as she frantically search for something. In her hand was her newly found dagger which she now used to chop effortlessly through items in her path. Xander realized that she must be searching for Spike. Scanning through the rubble, Xander found the couch he had left Spike laying on before coming out into the front room. Its frame was smashed and torn, but there was no blood.  
  
Watching Buffy as she continued to tear through the items in the store room, Xander tried to think of a way to get the dagger away from her. In her present state, he didn't see how he could to that.  
  
Finally reaching the back of the room, Buffy reached to overturn a large wooden desk when Spike sudden launched out from behind the desk toward Buffy. His left hand caught her right wrist while his right caught her by the throat. Catching Buffy off-guard, Spike was able to push her backwards and they both tumbled over the broken furniture. They landed together on the concrete floor. Obviously still in weakened over their last fight, Spike lost his grip on Buffy's throat. He held fast to her right wrist, however, with all his strength. Finally reacting, Buffy struck the vampire on the bridge of his nose with her left palm and then grabbed him by the collar of his tell-tale leather overcoat. With a jerk of her arm, she sent Spike flying across the room and crashing into the wall. She jumped to her feat and was about to leap over the rubble and towards the fallen vampire when she heard Xander shout out behind her.  
  
"No, Buffy!"  
  
Turning towards him, she sneered upon seeing him. She reached down and grabbed a broken desk lying before her. Whipping her arm in his direction, Xander saw her lift the desk off the ground and send it spiraling through the air at him. Jumping back from the doorway, Xander was saved from the flying desk as it struck the doorframe and then fell to the ground. Kicking the desk, Xander moved it from the door and was about to step into the room when he felt and hand on his shoulder. Turning, Xander found Willow behind him. She looked recovered from her fall though a single thin streak of blood ran down the left side of her face, past her ear.  
  
Stepping back from the doorway, Xander let Willow move up in front of him.  
  
Inside the room, Buffy had made her way over to Spike and had him against the wall and lifted off the floor with her left hand. Spike eyes had rolled back into his head and he didn't seemed to be responding to Buffy's grip. The Slayer stood holding the lax form the vampire up before her. She didn't move for several moments and just starred at his face. The look in her eyes flashed from rage to confusion and back again. Finally, a look of anger washed over her face and she lifted the dagger in her hand above her head.  
  
Before she could strike, however, Willow, still standing at the door way, lifted her hand toward Buffy.  
  
"Hold." She spoke softly.  
  
Buffy didn't move. She stood frozen with the dagger held above her head.  
  
"Go get Spike." Willow said over her shoulder towards Xander.  
  
Scooting past Willow and into the store room, Xander made his way over the mess covering the room's floor. He cautiously approached the Slayer and the unconscious vampire she held before her.   
  
"Hurry," Willow pleaded, "she's breaking through somehow."  
  
Xander reached up and pulled Spike out from before Buffy. He then dragged him back to the door and out of the store room. As he left, Willow continued to watch Buffy.   
  
Willow felt something working its way against her holding spell. It wasn't Buffy herself. She was trapped by the spell and unable to move. Willow felt something probing against the magic of her spell. It was searching for the cracks in her wall and trying to worm its way through the binding. It was strong and persistent. Even as Willow tried to shift the spell to cover the cracks that the unknown force was probing through, it followed her shifting. Willow couldn't keep it under control and it quickly broke through her magic. Finally feeling the magic release, Buffy jerked forward and thrust the dagger down and into the stone wall in front of her.  
  
Shouting in anger, Buffy turned to look at Willow then pulled the dagger from the wall. With speed Willow couldn't believe, Buffy leapt across the rubble she had created and crashed past Willow into the front room. Willow fell backward into the room from the force of Buffy pushing past her.  
  
Catching up to Xander as he was dragging Spike across the floor, Buffy shouted in anger and pounced on the prone vampire. Xander released his hold on Spike and fell backward away from Buffy as she rushed toward him. As he backed off from Spike's body, Buffy didn't pursue and turned back to the vampire. She was startled to find Dawn lying across his body. Her eyes were filled with tears and she stared up at Buffy.  
  
"No, Buffy." She said, choking on her tears.  
  
Growling in anger, Buffy rushed forward and grasped Dawn by her hair. With a startled shout, Dawn reached up and clawed her sister on the face. Buffy yelped in pain and dropped Dawn to the floor. She hunched forward and covered her face with her hands. Dawn lay on the ground on her back by her sister. She watched Buffy with a look of mixed fear and anger.  
  
Buffy suddenly whirled about and grabbed her sister by her jacket collar. She lifted her up and slammed her back against a bookcase. Dawn squealed in pain. Behind Buffy, Willow jumped to her feet and screamed at her friend.  
  
"Buffy, stop! You're hurting her!"  
  
Buffy raised the dagger in her hand up between her and Dawn. The blade came up and stopped just under Dawn's chin. Squirming in her sister's grip, Dawn froze when she felt the dagger's tip on her flesh.  
  
"Buffy, please." She pleaded.  
  
"I…will….kill….them all." Buffy stammered.  
  
Dawn's eyes focused on her sisters. Buffy's voice didn't sound like hers. The tone was low and calm. It was still Buffy's voice, but those words were not hers.  
  
"I am the instrument of my own revenge." Buffy spoke. Her voice was strong and spoken slow. It reminded Dawn of how her grandmother spoke, slowly and intricately like she had all the time in the world to express her idea.  
  
"Buffy, please." Dawn pleaded again. "The dagger is hurting you. You're not making any sense."  
  
Buffy watched the scene before her completely detached from she was perceiving. She felt she was watching everything from the back of her mind, like a replay of her memories. She had no conscious control over herself and was acting as if in a play where her role was already lined out before her. She knew her face was stretched with anger and that she was shouting in rage. As much as the hate raged about her mind, she stayed quiet in a calm center.  
  
Right now, Buffy watched the frightened form of Dawn pleading before her on the screen of her minds eye. Buffy understood why Dawn would be afraid. After all, Buffy knew she had only moments before attacked Spike and Xander. Earlier, she had thrown Willow into a bookcase and had knocked Xander unconscious. Buffy assumed that Dawn believed that her sister was currently capable of harming her. Buffy wasn't sure either way but willing to do what was asked of her. She listened quietly inside her mind. Soon the chiming returned, and with it was the almost alive presence of her weapon. It whispered to her, prompted her to act in a certain manner. At first Buffy had been against some of the ideas the chiming was suggesting, but soon it had begun to make more sense and Buffy realized that the dagger's instructions were probably for the best. Attacking her friends had been strange. Buffy kept thinking that she cared for these people too much to try and hurt them, but the dagger reminded her of the vampire nearby and Buffy then realized that this was necessary to destroy the abomination.  
  
Buffy knew that Dawn was smart, though. And so were the rest of her friends. Buffy suddenly felt confused. They had been fighting evil together for years now and she had never known them blatantly work to shield evil from her. Now, however, they were all risking their lives to save the monstrous terror that lay unconscious on the floor.   
  
Monstrous terror?  
  
The description seemed off. Buffy saw herself drop Dawn to the ground and turn to the leather clad form of the vampric demon. As she starred at him, she felt the dagger's rage grow. It recognized the creature before it and seethed with hatred. She felt its persistent urging and the deafening song urging that she destroy the creature. Buffy agreed, the evil terror should be killed. Again, though, Buffy couldn't feel danger from this creature. As if she knew that it couldn't hurt anyone, even if it wanted to. Buffy saw herself look about the room. These human's didn't seem fearful of being in the same room with this killer.  
  
There's something in his head.  
  
The thought came unexpected and from some far recess of her mind.   
  
Yes a chip.   
  
She remembered, this particular vampire had a chip implanted in his head that stopped him from hurting humans. Buffy believed that she used to know a vampire with the same odd property. What was his name?  
  
Spike!  
  
Memories of the previous evening rushed back to her. She saw herself attacking Spike on the bridge and then pushing him over the edge so that she would not be able to kill him. Spike wasn't an enemy, he was a friend. A lover, even.  
  
The dagger's rage rose anew. Buffy saw herself take a step toward the fallen demon. Suddenly, the form of Willow was in front of her, blocking the way to her target. The dagger's rage flickered and dimmed. It wasn't upset at the humans. The weapon's rage only targeted the vampire. However, the dagger was not against going through the human to reach the vampire. Buffy saw her left hand lift to push Willow out of her way.  
  
Willow's image shimmered and shifted before her. After a moment, the shimmering passed and Buffy did not at first recognize what she saw. It looked like Willow, but the black form-fitting clothes and red died hair was a startling change.  
  
It's the vampire Willow from that alternate reality.  
  
The dagger's anger flared. The ringing chime swelled to a deafening level and the whispering became a roar of shouts.  
  
The dagger demanded the death of the wretched vampire before her.  
  
"But," Buffy thought, "that's not a vampire. it's…Willow."  
  
Buffy watched herself as she stepped up to Willow and raised the dagger up above her head to strike. In another instant, Buffy would see herself cut through Willow's skin and bone to pierce her heart. The blow would kill her friend and Buffy knew she would be the cause.  
  
In her mind, Buffy screamed against what she was seeing. Reaching forward from the black depths she had been watching from, Buffy grasped desperately at control of her limbs. She felt herself rush forward back into reality. The feeling of her clenched brow and her heavy breathing slammed into her senses. She felt the warm handle on her dagger and the painful clenching of her forearm. She was again in control of her body. Relaxing slightly, Buffy took a step back from Willow while lowering her hand and the dagger slightly.   
  
Still disorientated, Buffy was caught unaware as the seething rage and deafening chiming of the weapon flooded back into her mind. The sudden onset of the dagger's will was like a blow to her head and Buffy's sight reeled with the force. With persistent strength, the weapon tried to re-assert its control over her. Her vision blurred and the dagger became heavy as it tried to force its way down and into the chest of her friend. Buffy felt herself losing grip on reality and sliding back into the prison that had been her mind.  
  
Just as she was losing control, Buffy's own anger flared and she heard herself shout.  
  
"No!! Back off!!"  
  
With that shout, Buffy envision herself forcing the chiming out of her head and back into the dagger. In an instant, the music was gone. The dagger's overtake of her mind receded and its rage died. Buffy felt the weapon hang in her hand. Its anger and desire to destroy remained contained within itself.  
  
Collapsing to the cool floor in exhaustion, Buffy saw the image of Willow shimmer back into her original clothes just before everything went black. 


	8. The truth sucks

His name was Sean. He could remember at least that much.   
  
He couldn't remember much else, however. He remembered waking to see the vision of a woman before him. Before that, Sean could only remember flashes of nightmares and darkness. His memory was filled with anger and hatred. He saw flashes of blood and pain but couldn't pull a coherent image or place to form. It was all too vague and seemed like so long ago.  
  
This is why he had responded upon seeing the beautiful image of the woman floating serenely before him. She looked to have been just as interested in him as he was in her and her innocent curiosity seemed so foreign. Then the blood rage had come, and he lost all control. He remembered a bit of what happened after he had awoken. He had killed several people and for that he was regretful. The blood rage had been too strong and had caught him off-guard. He felt that the need for blood had been an eternal struggle for him and that he should have been used to repressing the desire. However, the sudden need had struck him so hard that he succumbed to it and lost control. Hours later, in the cool of the night air, Sean had finally calmed down. The line of destruction behind him had been long a brutal and now he had no idea where he was.   
  
Sean had found himself naked and in a foreign world. Nothing seemed real and he often wondered if he was still trapped in his nightmares. The concept of the buildings and streets had been familiar to him, but the reality of their shape and function was beyond what he had ever seen. They seemed so manufactured. As if they had all been produced by the same hand and that the art of variation was too burdensome for the creator. The streets ran black with some type of mud and the moving vehicles of steal claimed them for their own.  
  
Soon after calming, Sean had begun to hear the thoughts of others again. They started as whispers but soon rose to a deafening clattering in his mind. Quickly, Sean had to relearn a familiar skill of forcing the voices of those around him to a murmur. Enough, at least, for him to think.   
  
With the return of this ability, Sean remembered another.  
  
Encountering a couple walking together late in the night. Sean approached the couple silently. He came up from behind them and walked with them a while. They talked merrily, though Sean couldn't understand the words the uttered. He could catch the glimpses of their feelings and the meanings behind their words from their minds, but the language they used was completed unknown to him. He walked behind them for a time. Every so often they would turn in his direction and Sean would instinctually blank the image of himself from their thoughts. Though they looked straight at him, they could not see him. As he watched them, the blood rage ebbed at his strength. For a moment, he contemplated taking the two of them for his pleasure. The thought of their blood was intoxicating. The idea was quickly suppressed with honed efficiency and Sean almost didn't notice the desire as it flittered though his mind. Sean did, however, touch them.  
  
Reaching forward from behind, Sean lightly touched the fingers of his hand on the man's exposed neck.   
  
A flood of imagery rushing in from the ethereal connection Sean created. The young man's entire life played by before Sean's mind and Sean gathered all the information he could from the experience. He had learned a lot. The man's notion of the current "year" has surprised him. In fact, the world's current concept of measuring time seemed odd to him. The idea of segmenting the world into different areas of time was confusing. Sean couldn't think of a better way, however, even though he was certain that he should. The idea of keeping track of the world's revolutions about the sun was not foreign. However, the man's belief of only 2002 of those revolutions having happened since people started to count seemed vastly skewed. Sean couldn't fathom what the correct number should be, but he knew that it should be well more than what the world currently followed. The idea of machine's and locomotion was not completed odd, but he knew that he had never seen it utilized to such a degree. Even though he now understood that those vehicles he had seen on the roads were merely transportation, Sean would never have fathomed the amount of dependence that people laid upon their machines. It seemed very cold and restricting.  
  
Things were a bit clearer, though. Sean now understood their "English" and found it expansive enough to express almost any idea he could come up with. If he concentrated, though, Sean could hear other voices far off speaking different languages. There were many of them.  
  
For the next several hours, after acquiring clothes from suddenly generous pedestrians, Sean roamed the streets of this city gathering in the sites of this new world. He borrowed the knowledge from many different people and learned a wondrous many things. His first concept of this new world's dependence on the machines of their creation was only the tip of the truth. Sean soon discovered that most people in this land were relying on the continued function of these machines for their daily lives. In fact, most people were unaware at how much trust they placed in these fabricated servants. It was insane to Sean how helpless these people would be if their machines all broke and they were left to their own abilities.  
  
One other thing Sean noticed started like a buzzing in the back of his head. He felt there was something off about these people. When he reached forward to grasp the knowledge from their minds, Sean found it more difficult then he remembered. As he poured his effort into the task of extracting the information, Sean felt something pulling at this power. It was a dark abyss surrounding their being that drew the effort of his searching away. Sean had to only pour even more of his power into the act to accomplish the task, but he had a feeling that this should not be so. Something was different.  
  
Everyone also seemed very contained. Sean was not sure what that idea meant, but he felt that there should be more than just conversation flowing from these people. It seemed to him that part of them all was being restrained.   
  
After several moments of contemplation, Sean brushed the idea out of his mind. He was obviously suffering some type of memory loss and this idea was most likely part of it. In fact, the notion of him missing so much of his memory was painful.  
  
Sean had been walking the streets of this city, a city Sean had finally discovered was named Langley, and after several hours of exploring he began to catch a distinct scent in the air. The scent was scarcely familiar. The scent brought feelings of pain and annoyance to his mind. He didn't like the scent and its presence. It felt like some force that had been chasing him for as long as he could remember but couldn't harm him when it finally found him. Still, though, it tried and gave Sean unceasing discomfort.  
  
It was then that Sean noticed the lightening of the sky. The change was only minute and Sean knew that though others roam the streets, only he could see it. The lightening was increasing, however.  
  
"Of course," Sean spoke to himself upon making the connection between the coming dawn and the scent in the air, "the Sun."  
  
Sean smelled the rise of the new day's Sun.  
  
He remembered that he used to fear the sun, that its rays were at one time harmful to him. After a while, a long while, Sean remembered that the suns rays gradually became less dangerous. There was still pain and discomfort, but no longer a fear of being destroyed.   
  
Sean suddenly questioned why it was that the sun would be harmful to him. Looking about, Sean knew that those around him were in no danger. Yet he, for some reason, was. It could obviously be attributed to the other difference he had taken for granted. Sean instinctively knew he was magnitudes stronger and faster to any of these "humans." He also knew that he possessed powers beyond them that they would consider magical. He never suspected, however, that he may also have increased weaknesses.   
  
The blood thirst instantly came to mind. Even as mild as it was now that he had it under control, Sean knew that normal people did not suffer from this horrendous thirst. He also knew that they did not fear the sun the same way he did.   
  
Why, though. Sean thought to himself.  
  
It had always been this way, as far as Sean could remember. He couldn't even imagine himself being different than how he was.   
  
He had yet to meet another like himself. Perhaps there was none.  
  
Sean began scanning though the thoughts of those around him on the street. If he was just browsing though their thoughts, Sean found he could listen in at a distance. Though this method, Sean could only read their immediate thoughts and feelings but there was no need to make physical contact. In fact, with some practice, Sean discovered that he could still read the thoughts of those out of his sight if he concentrated.  
  
As fascinating as this was, however, Sean could find nothing that could help him discover the reason for his differences. Sean decided that he would need to make contact to find the answers he was looking for.  
  
Sean began lightly touching those who walked passed him. With a little persuasive influence, Sean was able to force them to ignore his touch. As Sean walked unheeded through the minds of those he came in contact with, he learned a great deal more about their religious beliefs and legends. Everyone he ran into believed in a higher power which controlled their destiny. The word "God" became common to his findings and Sean soon began to grasp the magnitude this figure played to these people. Even among those who believe in different religions, the existence of this higher power was a certainty. It was obvious to Sean that the simultaneous existence of some many beings, each supposedly the ultimate power in the universe, was contradictory. He also noticed that these people also realized this, however, they just assumed that they were correct and that every other religion was false. It also shocked Sean how little evidence each religion had to prove that theirs was the one, true religion. The presence of any real proof was virtually nonexistent. Yet some religions used this lack of evidence as further proof that blind trust, or "faith" as it was called, must be present for one to be a true believer. It was a self supporting delusion in which much of the world was caught.   
  
Even as Sean boggled over this oddity of religion, he probed deeper into their superstitions. After swimming several times though ideas of ghosts, goblins, and witches, Sean was confronted by a startling figure.  
  
The vampire.  
  
It was envisioned as an undead creature of evil that haunted the living for blood. Described as a creature of darkness, a vampire was immune to all forms of pain and injury yet could be destroyed in the light of the sun. They were inhumanly fast, strong, and could live forever.  
  
The resemblance to himself and his abilities was shocking. Sean did not consider himself "evil" though he realized that the blood thirst was directed at humans particularly. The abilities of extreme strength, speed, and immunity to suffering were quite correct. The idea of longevity was almost and after thought to Sean. He hadn't even pondered the idea of worrying about time as it passed. He felt little reservation about acting as he pleased since he always knew that any consequences he derived could not harm him.   
  
One thing he learned about the idea of vampires was their alternate form of destruction. Anyone he searched through agreed with this idea, though Sean couldn't understand the reasoning behind its effectiveness. The idea that a stake of wood thrust through his heart would kill him just as surely as the sun would was preposterous. It seemed like another fanciful notion that many humans believe on faith and of which they had no definite proof.  
  
Though not a perfect match for himself, Sean supposed that the description was closer than coincidence could explain.  
  
So, Sean thought, I am a vampire. Sounds overly dramatic.  
  
Sean continued to walk the streets in the coming Dawn, scanning the minds of the quickly thickening crowds of people. Searching for more on this idea of a vampire, which apparently was a superstition and associated with fiction, Sean found little else.   
  
More than an hour had passed since he had discovered what these people would call his kind and the sky had lightened to a dreary grey. Sean knew the brilliant visage of the sun was only moments behind the horizon. Nearing the end of his search, Sean flashed across the mind of a young gentleman. Instead of the fragmented visions of the minds imagination, Sean found clear memories. Most were of this young man in dark surroundings. He would most often be with a young female in these locations. She was usually running and frightened. Eventually catching up to her after playing with her fears, the young man would bare fangs and cut into is victims flesh. As Sean watched the memory of this young man feasting on the blood of his prey, his own blood thirst tried to rear its head. With minimal effort, Sean forced it away.  
  
This is not an idea he's had, these are images from his memory.  
  
Sean realized that the young man was a vampire.  
  
Sean turned and began to follow the gentleman. He was wearing a large dark trench coat pulled tightly around him and seemed to be walking with great urgency. Often, the young man would turn his head toward the dawn as he waded through the crowds of people. He would stare toward the coming sun then pull the coat closed even tighter. He was obviously concerned about the sun.   
  
He must be young. Sean deduced.  
  
Still curious, Sean continued to follow. After a few minutes of walking, the sun began to peak over the far horizon. It struck the tops of the tall buildings around them and slowly began to creep down their sides. Sean watched as the young man began to panic and broke out in a full run. With great speed, Sean watched the young man bolt down the sidewalk. Without little effort he pushed people left and right out of his way and created a bit of commotion. Not wanting anything to interrupt his pursuit, Sean filtered across the minds of those who had witnessed the young man's passage and calmed them. Sean then followed the young gentleman as he bolted into an alleyway.  
  
The alley was currently dark but would not remain so if the sun was given only a few more minutes to rise. Upon entering the alley, Sean found the young man at a doorway which lead into one of the adjacent buildings. He began knocking anxiously at the wood until a small eye-level port in the door opened. Sean could only see a pair of eyes staring out of the small hole in the door. The young man exchanged a few words with the person on the opposite side of the door in a language Sean did not understand. The young man seemed to the pleading, however. After a few moments of conversation, the portal closed and Sean heard a heavy lock release. The door then swung open and the young man scurried inside. Then, a brutish man only a bit shorter than Sean leaned out of the door and looked about the alley. On impulse, Sean wiped the image of himself standing in the hallway from the mind of the door guard. The guard's eyes passed over him unseeing. He then retreated into the building and closed the door, securing the door's lock.  
  
Sean silently approached the door. It was made of thick wood and Sean could smell the metal of the large brace on the other side. Studying the door, Sean knew that it would take little effort to force his way through. In fact, as Sean stood staring at the door and concentrating on forcing his way through, he could see the wood bending away from where is eyes focus. The door began to contort inward. Splinters snapped and shattered from the wood and the frame began to creak. Releasing his focus, the door ceased moving. Surprised, Sean looked down at his hands which hung as his side and had never moved.  
  
Suddenly, Sean heard a small latch in the door release and the portal in the door flew open. Looking up, Sean saw the eyes of the door guards staring out at him.  
  
The guard spoke a few angered words out at him in a gruff voice. Sean could not understand the language, but he could infer that the guard was not happy to see him. He didn't need powers to deduce that.  
  
"What is this place?" Sean asked in English.  
  
The guard's eyes peered up at him before responding.  
  
"It's a club house, but I don't think you're a member."  
  
He was lying, obviously. Feeling forward with his mind, Sean tried to read his thoughts but the guard seemed to be somehow hiding them.  
  
"Let me enter." Sean ordered.  
  
"Sorry, members only." The guard then closed the portal and secured the latched.  
  
Absently, Sean gestured at the portal and the latch released and the door flew open.   
  
"Let me in, please. I would like to enter." Sean spoke into open portal.  
  
A moment later the guard's eyes returned to the portal and stared out at him.  
  
"Look, bud. I don't know what you want but your kind isn't allowed in here. If it wasn't day out, I might have to hurt you. Now, piss off!"  
  
With that, he again slammed the portal closed and locked it.  
  
Anger flared inside Sean and he reached down, grasped the doors handle, and pulled outward. The door tore from its hinges and fragments of the wood frame shattered in all directions. Sean tossed the door to the side and entered the now open doorway. Once inside, he was met by the door guard with a weapon in his hand. Sean recognized it from many of the minds he had leafed though this morning. It was called a shotgun. The guard lifted the weapon to point towards him. Suddenly, the open end of his weapon exploded with flame and sound. Sean watched as a dozen small pellets burst from the weapon's end and scattered towards him. Sean reached forward with one hand and scooped them out of the air. He then reached up and tossed them at the guard's head. Flying from Sean's hand, the pellets struck the guard's grizzled head before he knew what was happening. The pellets quickly tore through the flesh and bone, shredding the man's head into pieces. Sean watched the dead man's form fall to the ground then shockingly burst into a cloud of dust. The dust evaporated and there was no trace of the corpse. The man's clothes had also evaporated, which seemed even odder to Sean.  
  
Looking about, Sean found himself in a small room. In the center of the room sat a round table with several chairs surrounding it. On the table were several bags of some type of snack food. Hung on the adjacent wall was a small television. Sean had discovered television via his wanderings this morning, but this was the first he had seen. Next to the television sitting on the wall was a large refrigerator.  
  
About to examine the food spread across the table, Sean heard movement. Looking up, Sean discovered that the sound of movement seemed to be coming from inside the refrigerator. Confused, Sean sent his thoughts out over the large appliance. He felt nothing from the device. Sending his thoughts farther back and beyond the wall, Sean discovered the thoughts of several more vampires. At first, Sean believed that they were in the room beyond the wall. Then Sean caught the glimpse of himself standing in this room staring at the fridge from the minds of the vampires. They were watching him.  
  
Sean stepped around the table and walked up to the refrigerator. Grasping it by the sides, Sean pulled away from the wall. Half the wall came free as he pulled the fridge away pulling plaster, wood and wire from the wall. Sparks exploded from behind the fridge. Rolling the fridge to the side and away from him, he heard it skitter across the floor then crash into the far wall.  
  
Within the now large opening in the broken wall, Sean found the entrance into a hallway. The hallway floor was covered in a thick red carpet and the walls were covered in red wallpaper with intricate black knot work scrolling across its surface. At the far end of the hallway is what looked like a large steel door. Standing in the middle of the hallway were two men dressed in black suits. The look of surprise had blanked their faces.  
  
One of the men stepped forward.  
  
"This is a private club," he shouted at Sean, "Back off. We won't hesitate to kill you!"  
  
Their confidence seemed to rise and both stepped forward to block the entrance into the hallway.  
  
"I just want to see what is within. Let me pass." Sean's voice was calm but commanding.  
  
"I don't think so." Responded the first and he reached under his suit jacket and drew out a long curved dagger. He then raised the dagger and snarled at Sean. As he did so, Sean watched the shape of the man's brow change as it clenched inward into a vicious looking grimace. The look was very primitive and Sean expected that it was meant to frighten. Sean also noticed that the man's fangs had grown longer and his eyes took on a yellowish sheen. The second guard's face also warped into the same sickly mask as he drew a long dagger from within his suit.  
  
Both men snarled at Sean before leaping at him, brandishing their daggers out before them. Sean watched them sail through the air at him. The leap had been quite a distance and nothing a normal human could have jumped. Just before they reached him, Sean stepped to the side out of their path. Upon landing, both men were startled to see Sean standing to their left. Sean reached up and grabbed the first by his neck and tossed him to the side. He then grabbed the second by the side of his head which he threw forward and into the wall. Sean movements had been a blur to the vampires and they were being tossed before the realized what was happening. The first flew across the room and landed on the table with a loud crash. The wooden table collapsed under the force. The second crashed into the wall in front of Sean. The wall's outside layer of sheet rock gave way under the weight and the vampire fell inward. Both men landed at virtually the same moment. As the first scrambled to stand up, Sean stepped up to the second vampire as he tried to climb out of the wall. Sean reached in and grabbed the man by his neck and yanked him out. Sean saw the dagger leave the man's hand under the force of Sean's sudden pull and fly across the room. Holding the vampire up by his neck, Sean threw him to the side and toward the broken frame of the outside door. Sailing across the room and out the door, the vampire landed outside the building in the now brightly lit alleyway. The vampire screamed as he gazed up and saw the sun blazing in the sky above him. Raising his arms up before him to shield himself from the deadly light, the vampire's skin sudden burst into flames. He screamed in pain and tried to roll over and claw his way toward the safety of the building. He only got a short distance before his head began to dissolve and melt away. Soon there was nothing left but his burning clothes.  
  
Now standing, the first vampire stared out the door at the ashes of his comrade. Sean watched him pause for a moment. With a sudden scream in anger, the vampire turned toward Sean and ran. He held his dagger up before him and made a swipe at Sean's neck when he came within reach. The blade struck Sean at the base of his neck above his left collar bone and stopped. The vampire stood before Sean, staring at the spot where his dagger met Sean's skin. The skin was unbroken, unblemished.  
  
With a quick gesture and a sudden burst of will, Sean saw the vampire fly backward away from him. He flew backward toward the wreckage of the table. As he landed on the broken table, Sean saw a large broken splinter of wood burst outward from the man's chest. With a violent jolt the vampire suddenly burst into dust, clothes and all.  
  
"Interesting," Sean whispered.  
  
Still staring at the spot over the table where the vampire had just been, Sean heard the deep thunk of metal from behind him. Turning to face the sound, he saw the steel door at the end of the hallway begin swinging outwards. Through the opening doorway, Sean saw a room with lush furniture and decorations. Directly across from the steel doorway was what looked like a guard's desk. Sitting behind the desk was another vampire of whom Sean could only see his head.  
  
Slowly, Sean made his way down the short hallway to the large steel door. Approaching the doorway, Sean noticed that the door had to be at least as thick as the length of his hand. Looking through the doorway and inside toward the vampire behind the desk. Sean found the man smiling at him in a warm and welcome manner.  
  
About to reach the large steel doorway, Sean heard the gears attached to the door suddenly screech and rumble. The door began a quick swing inward, trying to close off Sean's entrance. Sean casually reached forward and stuck his right hand in the open doorway before the door was able to slam shut. The door struck Sean's hand and came to a halt. The door stood open only a crack; Sean's hand was jammed between the door and the doorframe stopping it from closing.  
  
A moment later, Sean suddenly felt a rush of air around him and the hairs on his skin began to stand on end. There was electricity in the air which quickly rose in strength and finally discharged around him. Sean felt a soft warmth settle on his skin and he suddenly found that he could not move. Now aware of an unearthly shield binding him to his current stance, Sean tried to press forward with all his strength. It was no use; the shield didn't deny him his strength, just his mobility.  
  
Sean then felt the presence of another standing behind him. Over his shoulder, he heard a smooth and confident female voice.  
  
She laughed.  
  
"You're a good fighter, my friend. But the bindings of magic extend beyond the physical."   
  
Slightly annoyed, Sean felt his thoughts escape his mind and run abruptly into the shield encasing him. Slowly they expanded and began to probe into the barrier that restrained him. Sean could feel small breaks in the magic that held him in. It seemed a very sloppy and inexperienced way to create a barrier but, when he thought about it, Sean couldn't come up with a better way. He was certain there was a way, but the how escaped him.  
  
Continuing to probe the inside of the barrier with his thoughts, Sean ignored the female behind him as she continued to talk.  
  
"You're a very interesting person, my friend. I haven't seen someone dispatch our guards as quickly as you did. I can't be sure, but I believe you are a vampire. You don't feel right, but the blood lust is there. It's hidden well though I can tell you're starving. Why would you do this to yourself?"  
  
Her voice was condescending, but Sean hardly noticed. His mind had finished searching the entire length of the field and he had found what he had been looking for, the connection back to the field's source. He traveled the length of the connection back to the woman behind him. She had been the source of the magic's casting. Sean expected to find protection setup back long the path to her mind, but she didn't seem to have any. This was odd and foolish to Sean but, again, he couldn't remember what precedent made him think this.  
  
Arriving at the doorway into her mind, Sean broke the connection. The act was instant and almost effortless. He felt the warmth vanish from around his skin and his limbs were free. With his right hand still extended before him and wedged between the large metal door and its frame, Sean reach forward with his left hand and slipped his fingers in the small gap. Behind him, he heard the woman gasp as she realized that Sean was now free and able to move. Grasping the edge of the door with his hands, Sean swiftly pulled back and away from the doorway. The thick metal of the door tore instantly from the frame with a jarring sound of twisting metal. The huge steel door hung from his fingers like a toy. In a fluid motion, Sean swung the large door around behind him. Sean saw the woman for only a moment before the metal door slammed into her. She was older, as her eyes and mouth showed wrinkles and lines of age. Her hair was black as night with a single silver streak running down the length of her hair from her brow. Her eyes were grey and open in a look of surprise. An instant later, the door struck her. Sean released the metal and both the door and the crushed form of the woman disappeared in the wall behind her. There was a loud crash and a large cloud of dust as the door broke through the wood of the fragile wall.  
  
Staring though the hole in the wall for a moment, Sean then turned to face through the now empty metal door frame. The vampire behind the lavish wooden desk was now standing and staring toward him. A look of fear washed over his face and the vampire began to tremble slightly.  
  
Some how, the idea of creatures fearing him seemed familiar to Sean. 


	9. Stealing the dawn

Buffy found herself standing in the cold. There was nothing but wind and white swirling around her. Looking about, Buffy saw an endless landscape of snow and ice. The sun glared brightly from overhead, but its heat was forgotten in this tundra. Looking down, Buffy found that she was standing knee deep in the perpetual white. Though she knew she should be freezing, Buffy felt only a mild chill from her surroundings. The wind, however, felt cool and scrapped across her skin. It tossed her hair about in strong gusts and she felt the cool pricks of ice as the flinging snow stung her face.  
  
She was alone. She could feel the solitude of being the only living creature for hundreds of miles in every direction. Nothing survived in the deep freeze of this land.  
  
Then, as if motioned in that direction, Buffy turned her head to the side. Looking hundreds of yards over the endless white, Buffy saw the form of a man crest a far snow covered hill. She watched him as he steadily strove through the snow toward her. His pace was slow but deliberate as if he knew he had countless more steps to complete and that rushing these few would be pointless. Now, with the man only several dozen yards off, Buffy saw another dark form crest the far off hill behind the first. This man was running and leaping through the snow in great bounds. He rushed forward behind the previous man, desperately looking to catch up.  
  
As the first man approached Buffy, she began to feel that she had seen his face before. Over his tall form he was wearing a long coat which covered most of his body. However, the man's face was clearly visible. As she peered toward him trying to place his features, the swirling snow seemed to part. It was as if the wind and snow were trying to give her and clearer view. Below his short black hair, the man's hard eyes were cast down at the snow before him. He seemed to be in deep contemplation as he forced his way onward.   
  
In a flash of memory, Buffy finally remembered where she had seen this man's face. Buffy recalled earlier when she had first held the strange dagger and had begun to train with the weapon. As she danced about her training pad in the basement of the Magic Shop, Buffy had had a vision. She remembered seeing a dead body suspended in a tank of water. This man was the same man she had seen floating in the tank. As she recalled, Buffy had been sure the body in the tank had been dead. Until he opened his eyes and screamed at her, that is. The image of his face had flashed through her mind more than several times after seeing that vision and each time it had filled her with fear.  
  
Now, watching this man force his way through the snow past her, Buffy felt no fear. In fact, she felt pity for the man. He seemed so distraught and so alone. She wanted to reach out and comfort him; try and give him the hope for the future that she felt he had lost. Nothing could stop him in his path, though. He was a titan of strength that not even the elements of nature could withstand.  
  
He walked past her never looking up and not saying a word.  
  
As she watched him walk off into the distance, Buffy heard the stomping of his pursuer coming up behind her. Not thinking to turn and look, Buffy was startled as an arm reached out from behind her and grabbed her by her neck. Beyond having the wind ripped out of her throat, Buffy was blind by a fierce light searing from the man's skin. After a moment, Buffy could make out a series of symbols running up the arm clasped about her neck. The symbols were as foreign as those on her blade and swirled with a bright multi-colored light.  
  
Buffy was pulled back by her neck and against the chest of her assailant. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and the labored rasping of his breath. Then a hot gust of breath wafted past her neck and she felt the man's lips by her ear.  
  
"You're lucky the blade is just a tool. Its will for destruction is nothing compared to the madness griping its true master."  
  
Buffy stared forward, seeing only the back of the escaping monolith in his wind tossed, dark robes.  
  
When Buffy awoke, she was lying on the couch in the back room of the Magic Shop. At first, she was confused on where she was and how she had gotten there. Her mind was awash with the fog of dreaming and images of endless snow danced throughout her head. Moments later, however, the memory of the current day came flooding back into her mind and she inwardly cringed at recalling what had happened. Opening her eyes, Buffy was glad to find the lighting was low. Even in the dim light, Buffy's eyes still stung and a raging headache began pounding in her temples. Turning her head, Buffy glanced around the room. The storeroom was still in a bit of disarray after her earlier search for Spike. However, it seemed that someone had gone through and at least righted all the furniture.   
  
Buffy wondered what time it was.  
  
Lifting herself up on her elbows, Buffy cringed with pain as her headache protested her movement. Buffy then turned and swung her legs off the couch. A wave of nausea washed over her forcing her to lean forward and rested her head on her hands. Feeling the smooth cool skin of her forehead with her right hand seemed odd. Buffy realized why; it was because she had hardly felt anything over the past day with that hand but the scaled hilt of her dagger. Thinking of her weapon, Buffy lifted her head and looked about.   
  
She didn't see it anywhere.  
  
There was a small urge dancing in the back of her mind to find the weapon, but Buffy calmed the urge and resisted. She didn't need it anymore.  
  
Thinking back on the past day, Buffy could not believe her actions. She had not only attacked Spike, which, frankly, wasn't too hard to accept, but she had also attacked Dawn and her friends. Buffy realized that the weapon had been using her as a tool instead of her using it. Remembering the rage the weapon felt against vampires sent shivers down Buffy's spine.  
  
The door to the front room swung open and a bright light streamed in from beyond. Buffy cringed away from the light and turned her head.  
  
"Oh, sorry," she heard Xander speak. The light withdrew and she heard the door close. Xander made his way through the debris and over to Buffy's side.  
  
"How are you feeling," he asked looking down at her.  
  
"Like crap," she responded groggily.  
  
"Do ya still feeling like killing everyone," Xander asked, half serious.  
  
"No, that was the dagger, Xander," she answered.   
  
"Well, that's good." He said, falling back onto the couch next to her.  
  
Buffy glanced over at Xander and saw a large gash on his forehead above his left eye. The wound was fresh, but it wasn't bleeding.  
  
"Oh my god," Buffy breathed reaching out towards Xander's wound.  
  
He cringed away from her touch.  
  
"It's alright," he said, lifting his own hand to touch the wound. "It hurts, thank you," he spoke sharply, giving Buffy a hard look. "But it's alright."  
  
"I am so sorry," Buffy apologized, feeling genuinely terrible about the wound she knew she caused.  
  
"It's okay," Xander assured her, "you were under the mojo of that demon dagger."  
  
"How's Willow," Buffy asked, recalling that she had thrown her best friend into a bookcase.  
  
"She's okay, just a little bump on the head."  
  
Buffy dropped her head into her hands again. She felt so angry at herself for letting this happen.  
  
"I don't believe I fell so easily to that thing. I didn't even notice the change." She spoke quietly.  
  
"Well, I wasn't sure at first. All I had was what Spike said. But after you guys got here, I could tell in your eyes."  
  
"I am so sorry," Buffy repeated.  
  
"Don't worry about it. No one blames you. We all know it was that knife." Xander placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her.  
  
Buffy looked up.  
  
"Where is it, right now," she asked.  
  
"It's in the other room," Xander replied. "Anya found a case for it and put it away behind the counter."  
  
"Why?" His question was asked hesitantly.  
  
"Cause it's dangerous and I want to know where it is," she answered.  
  
Buffy then set her hand on her knees and stood off the couch.  
  
"I guess I should head out there and face the firing squad."  
  
Xander smiled. "I wouldn't worry too much. I happen to know that some of them will try and miss on purpose."  
  
Buffy laughed and started toward the door to the front room.  
  
"The rest of the shots you'll just have to go on luck." Xander stated as he stood and followed her out.  
Dawn watched from across the room as Buffy and then Xander exited the backroom. The apologies were short but sincere. After the years spent together fighting the unknown and finding themselves in situations beyond the norm, the Scooby group had grown accustomed to accepting odd behaviors. A few heartfelt sorrys and a lot of hugs and everything was just about back to normal. The only reminders of what had happened were the cuts, bruises, and broken furniture.  
  
Spike was appropriately upset. He had been pushed off a bridge, after all. Buffy handled him as usual and let him know that she wasn't completely sure she had been all that much under the daggers influence when she attacked him.  
  
Of course, Dawn was not left out. Buffy had spent several minutes on her sister apologizing with repeated ferocity. Dawn almost threw herself into the hug to end the scene.   
  
Dawn was genuinely happy that Buffy was back to normal. She had sensed something about her sister when she had gotten home earlier this evening. Buffy had been on edge and very protective. Then Buffy had attacked her when she tried to enter her room. Buffy hadn't been wild with paranoia like she had been here at the Magic Shop, but Dawn had felt the crazed anger while Buffy thought she was protecting that weapon.  
  
As the rest of the gang talked about the recent incident, Dawn began glancing around the room. She tried to remember where Anya had put the dagger. She was pretty sure that she had seen Anya place in some box then walk behind the counter. Dawn eyed Buffy as she spoke with everyone. They were all standing near the table in the recessed area of the shop. Dawn watched her sister, looking for signs that she might be interested in the main counter or even just glancing toward it. Buffy seemed total engrossed in her current conversation.  
  
Dawn was glad to see this. She was afraid that Buffy had just been faking about beating the weapon and was secretly planning to retrieve it. From what she saw, however, Dawn no longer believe this was the case. Happy that everything was back to the quirky normal that they were used to, Dawn stood off the display case she had been leaning on and began to walk down the steps toward the rest of the gang.  
  
After a few steps, though, Dawn stopped as a thought occurred to her.  
  
The blade might not be safe.  
  
It was an odd idea to have after just convincing herself that everything was alright, but Dawn had to admit that her thoughts might be right. Turning back towards the counter, Dawn wondered if just placing the obviously dangerous item behind a counter would be enough to protect everyone. After all, if Buffy was barely able to withstand it, anyone else would probably be completely lost to it. Just having it lying there was probably not the best idea. Dawn decided that she would have to bring this up with the rest of the gang.  
  
Dawn turned back toward everyone still in the midst of conversation and was about to speak when another thought occurred to her.  
  
The blade needs to leave the shop, now.  
  
Dawn wasn't sure why, but she was almost certain that this was the best idea. Turning around once again, Dawn stepped up and behind the main counter. Looking through the contents of the various shelves, Dawn finally found a long white box she had never seen before. Placing her hand over the top of the box, Dawn felt a warm sensation emanating from within the wood. Suddenly, within Dawn's mind, she could see a complete picture of the dagger lying within. The dagger was set lightly on the wood and wasn't secured in any way. The blade was free and could easily cut through the wood surrounding it if jostled.  
  
Lifting the box careful from the shelf, Dawn suddenly had the idea to reach into the box and retrieve the dagger. She could almost feel the warm scales of the wooden handle. The compulsion was so strong, in fact, that Dawn stopped where she stood. Just about to reach inside, another thought popped into Dawn's head.  
  
Don't touch the weapon! It is evil!  
  
Dawn snapped her hand back from lifting the lid. She had seen the danger the weapon could cause and didn't want to fall prey to it. Stepping around from behind the counter, Dawn began to wonder what she should do with the box. Stashing it in the backroom wouldn't be enough. Maybe she should give it to the Spike so he could keep it in his crypt.  
  
Take it out the front door.  
  
Dawn nodded to herself. If she headed out the front door, she could look around for someplace safer to store the weapon. Dawn turned toward the front exit and began walking cautiously toward it with the box in hand. Fearful that Buffy would notice her, Dawn tried to be as quite as she possibly could.  
  
She could still hear her sister and friends talking behind her and down the stairs. The tone of their conversation had changed from the initial apologetic and acceptance feel to the now troubleshooting and problem solving mode. Dawn suspected that they were working on the new mystery of the blade she held out before her. Dawn didn't concern herself with exactly what they were saying, as long as they were not paying attention to her.   
  
Finally crossing the store and reaching the entrance, Dawn reached out and placed a hand on the door handle.  
  
She paused.   
  
A faint sound began dancing in the back of her head. It was a musical, almost chiming floating lightly in her mind. The chiming soon rose in volume and Dawn's ideas of leaving the store with the dagger began to drown out. Dawn considered that it might even be best to turn around and return the dagger directly to Buffy.   
  
Suddenly, her previous thoughts pushed through the flood of music and reasserted themselves. Dawn realized that she had no choice but to get the dagger as far away from her sister as possible and that she had no time to waste.  
  
Get out! Now!  
  
With a start, Dawn pulled the door towards her and stepped out into the night.  
  
"I can't believe it took control of you so quickly," Willow commented.  
  
They were all sitting around the currently empty table in the lower area of the Magic Shop's front room. The conversation had been light and muffled. Buffy had been staring at the floor since they all sat down. A feeling of uneasiness blanketed the group and seemed to stunt everyone's speech. Xander and Anya had exchanged a few words when Anya had mentioned the damage to her shop. She had been concerned about the cost of the damages and plainly asked if they should charge Buffy for the damages or the person she was attacking at the time. Xander had, once again, mentioned her incredibly acute sense of bad timing.  
  
Once Willow had spoken, however, everyone set their minds on the true topic at hand.  
  
"I know," Buffy responded meekly. "I…I don't know what it was."  
  
"You were a completely different person," Xander stated.  
  
"Everything was fine until you tried to take the dagger," Anya mentioned. "Then she just flipped out."  
  
"What were you thinking when we tried to take it, Buffy?" Willow asked.  
  
Buffy looked up from the floor. All eyes were focus on her. She looked from one persons face to another, except Spike. Buffy could feel him sitting only a few steps away to her right. She knew he was looking at her but she didn't have the strength to return the gaze.  
  
"It…it has a…a will…a will of its own. I dunno." Buffy toiled over the idea she was trying to express. The words were just not there.  
  
"I could feel it inside me. It…it saw through my eyes, and it knew what I was thinking. And…I could tell what it was thinking but it never actually used any words."  
  
"It possessed you?" Xander asked.  
  
"No," Buffy responded, shaking her head. "But, we had a connection. And it made me faster and stronger and…better than I was before."  
  
"Did you…kill anyone while you were out?" Willow asked, not talking about demons or vampires.  
  
Buffy looked over at her, sensing the meaning behind her words.  
  
"No," Buffy answered, again shaking her head. "Just some vampires and demons."  
  
Buffy lowered her eyes to the floor again. She remembered the small store house she had fought in and the old vampire she had killed.  
  
"I don't need stakes if I fight with that dagger. I can stab a vampire anywhere with the blade and they'll dust."  
  
"Really?" Xander asked, surprised.  
  
"Yeah." Buffy responded still looking at the floor in memory. "Any everything would be fine until I tried to drop the weapon or someone tried to take it from me. I'd…I'd lose it."  
  
"Yeah," Anya spoke sardonically, "and break things."  
  
Buffy looked up at Anya.   
  
"I'm sorry," Buffy spoke sincerely. She then looked around the table at everyone. "for everything. I…I couldn't control myself."  
  
Buffy then looked over at Spike.  
  
He was watching her with a level but pained look. Buffy wasn't certain if it was because she had hurt him or if because, inside, he had sympathy for her.  
  
Buffy's eyes dropped to the floor again.  
  
"I'm sorry Spike." She stated softly. "I know I almost killed you."  
  
There was an agonizing pause after Buffy's apology. Buffy stared at the floor hoping that Spike would say something…anything.  
  
"Yeah," he finally spoke, "it's alright."  
  
After a few moments of silence, Willow spoke up again.  
  
"Well, we should probably find out where the dagger came from."  
  
"The thing I don't understand," Xander started, raising his finger in question, "is why it only affected Buffy and not Anya or Spike."  
  
Xander looked around the group.  
  
"Well, they both held it and didn't feel anything."  
  
"Yes," Anya agreed, "I didn't sense anything about the weapon. It was just cold."  
  
"Well, I dunno about you," Spike spoke, looking at Anya, "but I was damn well affected. I almost killed myself with the bloody thing."  
  
"Killed yourself?" Willow asked.  
  
"Yeah, it put all these images in my head and made we want to off myself. I almost stabbed myself through the bleedin' heart."  
  
"Well, maybe the blade isn't all bad," Xander stated sarcastically.  
  
Spike's only reply was a grimace thrown in Xander's direction.  
  
"Yes," Buffy spoke, "it definitely hates vampires."  
  
"Were going to need more books or something, then." Anya stated, gesturing to the books on the shelves around them. "I went through everything here earlier today and didn't find anything on that dagger. That's why we thought it was a fake."  
  
"Well, it's certainly real." Buffy spoke, followed by a joyless chuckle.  
  
"Well," Willow corrected, "the magic is real. But the dagger could still be one of those fakes. Just because it's powerful doesn't mean it's old."  
  
"Do you think you could find out anything about the dagger?" Buffy asked Willow.  
  
Willow stood from the table and began walking toward the front counter.  
  
"I can try a few spells. If I can't figure out anything about it, maybe I can at least dispel the magic," she stated as she walked.  
  
At the idea of losing the magic of the dagger, Buffy felt a quick pang of indecision. She still craved the power that dagger offered her. Without the dagger's persistent influence, however, Buffy was able to decide that the dagger was too chaotic and dangerous to leave as a constant desire for her to possibly indulge.  
  
Reaching the counter, Willow stepped behind it and looked below the top counter at the shelves below. She then turned and looked behind her, a look of confusion spread across her face.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked.  
  
Willow only answered with the belated, "Uh."  
  
She then crouched down behind the counter and Buffy heard the counter drawers opening and closing. By the way Willow banged the drawers closed Buffy could sense that she was becoming frantic.  
  
"What is it?" Buffy asked as she stood and raced over to the counter.  
  
When she reached the counter, Willow stood from behind it. The confused look had not left Willow's face.  
  
"It's…it's gone."  
  
"Gone?" Buffy heard Xander shout from behind her.   
  
Buffy shoved Willow out of the way and crouched behind the counter. Willow was right; Buffy couldn't feel the dagger. Buffy stood and looked toward the rest of the group now standing around the counter.  
  
Buffy's eyes grew wide.  
  
"Where's Dawn?" she asked.   
  
Everyone scanned the room looking for Buffy's sister.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy called out.  
  
Xander rushed over to the door to the store room and flung the door open.  
  
"Dawn!" he called into the dark.  
  
Buffy bolted out from around the counter and then raced to the door down into the basement.  
  
"Dawn!" she yelled as she descended the stairs. The room was cool, dark, and empty.  
  
She then heard the bell at the shops front door jingle. Buffy turned to race back up the stairs when she heard Willow call her name.  
  
Emerging from the stairs, Buffy found Willow standing at the front door. Instead of looking outside, however, Willow was staring at the door.  
  
Buffy ran across the room, leapt up the stairs and came up behind Willow. She heard Xander, Anya, and Spike come up behind her. Reaching Willow, Buffy glanced out the doorway and into the dark night beyond. She could see nothing but the dark street and sidewalk outside the shop.  
  
Turning back to Willow, Buffy found her still staring at the shops front door. Willow stood in between Buffy and the door and obscured Buffy's view.  
  
"What is it, Willow?" she asked, voice strained.  
  
Willow stepped to the side.  
  
Hanging from the door knob was a small necklace. The chain was silver and thin, glinting slightly in the dim light. At the end of the chain was a silver pendant set with a small peridot.  
  
Buffy recognized the necklace as Dawn's. The necklace had been their mother's and the peridot had been her birthstone.  
  
Buffy reached down to grasp the necklace. She began fighting inside herself over the meaning of finding her sisters necklace. Many reasons came to her, but only the worst lingered.  
  
As Buffy made contact with the thin silver of the necklace's chain, a small jolt of electricity sparked at her fingertips. There was a sudden rush of noise like standing on a beach and hearing the rising crash of an oncoming wave. Then the wave receded and Buffy heard a deep, familiar voice.  
  
"Slayer, I have your sister and the dagger. Do not attempt to find her. Do not attempt to retrieve her. This is your one chance to keep her alive. I will contact you."  
  
Buffy recognized the voice. It was the voice of the blonde haired man she had chased out Willow's window earlier tonight. She had only heard the voice for a few moments as he had cast his spells in that unintelligible language, but Buffy was certain it was the same.  
  
"What is it, Buffy?" Willow asked.  
  
Buffy lifted her hand from the necklace then touched it again. The "recording" didn't replay.  
  
"There was a spell on the necklace. I heard a voice. He said that he has Dawn and the dagger."  
  
"What?" Xander almost shouted.  
  
"Who?" Willow asked in shock.  
  
"I dunno, but I think it was the same guys that came after you tonight." Buffy answered, lifting the necklace off the door knob.  
  
"Wait," Xander started as he turned to Willow, "who came after you?"  
  
"I don't know." She answered, lifting her hands up before her in abandon. "I was sleeping then there were these three guys in the room and they tried to grab me. Buffy and I got two of them but the third got away."  
  
"Oh," Xander shouted incredulously, "and you just decide to tell us now?"  
  
"Xander, we where kinda busy with the whole knife and Buffy thing. I forgot."  
  
"Oh, right." He responded a bit sheepishly  
  
Spike had been standing a few steps behind everyone, listening to the conversation. Now, however, he stepped forward through the group and stood before Buffy.   
  
"We have to find her." He stated quietly.   
  
Buffy looked up from the necklace to peer at him.  
  
Spike had spent several nights watching over Dawn through the last few months at Buffy's request. Buffy always thought that he had agreed to baby-sit because of his feelings for her, but she began to wonder if Spike had actually grown fond of Dawn.  
  
"No," Buffy responded, "He said that if we come looking for her…he'll kill her."  
  
"Well, we can't just sit around. We need to find her." Xander spoke, visibly upset.  
  
"I know," Buffy responded, "but we have to be careful. If they find out we're looking, they might hurt her."  
  
"Okay," Willow started, "what should we do."  
  
Buffy thought for a moment. Reflecting , Buffy realized that she was probably acting calmer than she should be considering the situation. Dawn had been kidnapped by some unknown group and they had taken the dagger with her. If they knew how to use it, Buffy wasn't sure if she could get it back from them. Despite that, Buffy knew she had to focus on saving Dawn. The dagger was not as important as her own sister.  
  
"Willow," she finally said, "head over to Willy's and ask about the guy we saw in your room. See if anyone recognizes the description. Spike, you're with me. Let's head back to my house and we'll search those bodies in the basement for clues. Let's go."  
  
Willow nodded, walked inside the shop, grabbed her coat, and then set off down the street towards Willy's bar. Buffy grabbed her coat and she and Spike headed out the front door. Xander stopped her at the door.  
  
"You guys need help?" he asked.  
  
"Xander, you and Anya get some sleep. We all can't stay up all night. You guys can help in the morning when the rest of us collapse. We'll come get you if we find anything." 


	10. Still Searching

Sean waved his hand back through the fire. He felt the warmth and the faint flickering of the flame across his skin. There was no pain. However, Sean didn't expect any.  
  
Looking up from the fire, Sean gazed about the large room in which he sat. The room was a lavishly furnished study. Hundreds of books occupied the long shelves along each wall. Even the door was hidden behind a cabinet of books. Only a small brass handle protruding from the wood hinted at the existence of an exit. In the center of the room was a small fire pit with an overhanging chimney. On either side of the fire sat a large wooden desk. Both desks were covered by books and papers in and untidy mess that contrasted with the order of the rest of the room.  
  
Sean sat on the floor next to the fire slowly waving his right hand through the flames. At first, his intention with the fire had been to burn the blood from his hands. This plan had worked successfully, but Sean found himself enjoying the fire's warmth too much to leave. He had rolled up the short sleeves of his shirt before sticking his hands into the fire. Now, the dried blood his handling had left on them began to crack and break as he moved. Sean had long since discarded the large trench coat he had been wearing. After it had become ripped, burnt, and soaked, Sean no longer desired it.  
  
Sean looked over the titles of some of the book around him. He didn't need to stand from the fire to see the words, he could probably have still read them if his eyes were closed. At first, Sean had a bit of difficulty reading English as the language had been completely foreign to him. As he read, however, the information he had "absorbed" from those he met had slowly begun to order itself in his head. Now, he could easily browse over the titles around him.  
  
It looked to be more of an informational collection. Most of the titles seemed to focus on describing a certain item or event. Some titles seemed to be those of creative writings but they always seemed to be in theme with those non-fiction titles around them.  
  
As Sean scanned the books, a particular title caught his eye, "A Theoretical Explanation on the Existence of the Slayer." The word "Slayer" sparked interest in the back of his mind and Sean saw the image of the golden haired child that had awoken him flash through his mind.  
  
Standing, Sean took the few steps over to the book case and retrieved the book from the shelf. As Sean gazed down at the black hard-bound cover of the book he felt a tingle in his awareness. Looking toward the book shelf behind which the room's door hid, Sean felt the presence of someone approaching from the outside hallway. Concentrating on the presence, Sean felt his mind extend out beyond the door. He could feel the mind of the one approaching.   
  
It was a vampire. Sean recognized the ever-present blood-thirst in the creatures mind. The constant need for blood boiled in the very depths of this being. The reminder tempted at Sean's own need for human blood and its persistent urging at the back of his mind. As an after-thought, however, Sean suppressed this need with ease.   
  
Sean didn't remember anyone remaining. This new vampire must have recently arrived.   
  
Still monitoring the creatures approach, Sean waited as the vampire slowly crept down the hallway to just outside the study door. Waiting patently, Sean watched as the vampire quietly turned the doors handle and gently pushed inward. The door swung into the room and a blonde haired head slowly extended inside from out in the hallway. The faint scent of sweet perfume wafted through Sean's nose.  
  
Still watching, Sean waited as the vampire scanned the study. With his thoughts, Sean felt the smooth curves of this female vampire as she stood peering in the room. As her head angled from one side of the room to the other, she started with surprise upon spotting Sean.  
  
He kept a calm and unwavering gaze through the few seconds she stood there looking at him. She then stood and half stepped into the room. She kept her left side hidden behind the door as she stood there looking as Sean. Sean neither moved nor took his eyes from her gaze; he remained as immobile as stone.  
  
"Uh…what…what happened here?" she finally asked.  
  
Her voice was soft and hushed, as if she was trying not to wake someone. Sean suspected she was only a few decades old if even that. Her body was young and supple and the tight fitting close she wore hugged her every curve. After dancing lightly through her mind, Sean believed she had been a vampire for only as long as she had not been.  
  
"What do you mean?" Sean asked. He kept his voice calm and hushed, like hers.  
  
Her gaze glanced outside past the door then came back to Sean.  
  
"Everything is destroyed. Everyone's gone. I…I…"  
  
Her statement broke off abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and her grip on the door tightened. Through her eyes, Sean realized that she was starring at the blood soaked into his rolled up sleeves.  
  
"Did you do this?" she asked curtly.  
  
Sean hesitated for a moment. He didn't necessarily want to hurt this young thing. However, he suspected that if he told her the truth she would most likely act the same way the others had and attack him. Sean didn't see the purpose of lying though. He doubted that she would believe him.  
  
"Yes." He answered.  
  
The vampire looked appalled at his answer.  
  
"Why?" she asked, incredulously.  
  
Sean was stumped for a second. He wasn't sure why he had killed them all. At first, he had been defending himself as they attacked him. Eventually, however, Sean had begun enjoying himself. Continuing, Sean eventually ran out of vampires. They had stopped attacking. As he searched the premises, Sean had found several hiding in rooms. He had killed him when the idea struck him, but others he had let escape. As the sport had begun losing his interest, Sean found himself here in this study.  
  
"I'm…not certain." He replied, pausing for a second.  
  
"You're not certain?" she repeated.  
  
"They attacked me." Sean explained.  
  
"All the food in the nursery is dead. You gonna tell me that they attacked you too?" Her voice was harsh.  
  
Through the female vampire's eye, Sean saw an image of the scene to which she was referring. Sean remembered encountering the room she titled "the nursery." He had followed a few fleeing vampires into a large room and had found it occupied by several living children. They had been of all ages of pre-pubescence; from a week-old infant a ten year old boy and girl. They were all huddled away from the door and cowering in fear. Most were in torn and dirty clothes. Others were well dressed and cleansed. All looked to have the tale-tale vampire bite marks scarring their skin. Most were on their necks, some were spread across the rest of their skin.  
  
Sean had stood confused by the scene for a few seconds as the vampires he had been chasing fled from him while firing their weapons in his direction. The children had cringed and shouted with each shot. Sean had stood uncaring as their shots missed and struck the walls behind him.   
  
Forgetting the fleeing vampires, Sean had stepped over to a small cradle currently supporting a crying child. The child had been a boy. Sean could remember feeling the fear and longing pouring out from the young boy. He had craved for little else but food and the warmth of another human. The scent of the boy had been strong, but Sean remembered the reeking taint he had smelt coursing through the child's blood. Gently reaching down and lifting the small child's right leg, Sean had found a vampire's bite just beneath the knee.   
  
Tainted.  
  
The word had rung soundly in Sean's head and he had twisted his face in revulsion. Sean had then looked up again at the face of the still shrieking child. He had seen not the boys face but a mask of the evil that he now sensed corrupting him.   
  
Contact defiles purity. The un-pure cannot be allowed to exist as the risk of contamination is too great.  
  
In his mind, Sean saw the flash of a face uttering those words. The face had been old and wrinkled. His grey eyes flashed with authority as he spoke. His mouth moved in the sharp speech of disgust as uttered the words Sean knew he had heard from those lips countless of times. Sean felt a pang of regret upon seeing this unknown man's face. He tried to grasp the image as it faded from his mind but it slipped through his grasp and fell into the dark hole of his amnesia.   
  
Still not remembering anything about his own past, Sean was not sure whose face he had seen or how he knew this man. It had caused a reaction within him, however, and the feeling of revulsion only grew as he repeated the man's phrase in his head.  
  
Sean knew that the child lying before him had been tainted by the evil of the vampire's bite. Though he might not become a vampire himself, he had been exposed. It was like an illness spreading through a household. Though not all children of that household may show symptoms, each child had been exposed to the sickness and must be separated as if they too were ill.  
  
With a sharp thrust of his arm, Sean had reached down and grasped the head of the screaming child within his huge palm. In a wave of disgust, Sean then closed his hand. He remembered the small child's head popping and hearing the boy's skull crunch under the massive pressure Sean's fingers had applied. Blood and bone had then poured out from between his fingers and stained the light fabric lining the inside of the cradle. Sean remembered the distinct silence after the child's howling had ceased.  
  
Sean vaguely recalled that he had dealt with the rest of the children in a similar fashion. He couldn't remember, exactly. The whole scene had become blurry and awash with emotions of disgust and anger. Sean did regret his actions, considering that he couldn't exactly recall his motivation for killing the children. He hadn't thought much about it until now.  
  
"They…were tainted." Sean tried to explain.  
  
The female vampire only gawked at his answer.   
  
"And so you killed off perfectly good food?" she screamed at him.   
  
She stepped out from behind the door and now stood completely in the room. Her hands were clenched in fists at her sides. Her face suddenly twisted and contorted into the now familiar snarl that Sean had seen on many of the vampires he had killed this evening.  
  
"I'm going to rip you apart for what you've done to my home!" she shouted.  
  
Sean watched the muscles in her legs strain as she launched herself forward with all the speed she could gather. Sean watched her approach; her actions seemed languid and uncontrolled. She sailed lightly through the air and landed on the carpet before him. Shouting in fury, she lashed out toward his face with her right hand and its long pristine claws.  
  
Sean stood unmoving before her attack.  
  
Her nails struck the left side of his face just to the right of his eye. There they stopped. The skin beneath her claws remained unbroken and resilient to her strength. After pulling the look of surprise from her face, the vampire removed her nails from Sean's head and brought her right arm back across her chest. She then released the arm and swung upwards towards Sean's chin with the side of her closed fist.  
  
Again, Sean neither moved nor reacted.  
  
Her fist struck Sean's chin with all her might. Instead of injuring her target, the vampire felt a bone in her own hand pop as it broke. Sharply pulling her hand back in pain, the female vampire took a step back from Sean as he watched her.   
  
Sean then brought his hand up before him. He moved with ease and patience. He struck her chest just below the sternum. Neither defending from the attack nor even seeing Sean's movement, the vampire was flying back across the room before she realized what was happening. She struck the far wall of books with a crash and crumbled to the ground.  
  
Watching her, Sean took a few steps forward.  
  
As the female vampire's dazed look rose to his face, Sean spoke.  
  
"That was foolish" he stated. "I hadn't harmed you."  
  
Rising to her feet, the female vampire kept her back pressed closely to the bookcase behind her. He eyes were now wide and moving wildly around the room.  
  
"What are you?" she asked. Her voice wavered as she spoke.  
  
"I'm a vampire, I believe." Sean answered. "But not like you…or the rest of you."   
  
Sean's eyes dropped to the floor.   
  
"I'm not actually too certain."  
  
The female vampire suddenly shot forward and toward the room's still open exit. Sean didn't stop her as she stepped past him. He didn't much care if she lived, he had killed enough today.   
  
As she exited the room, however, Sean felt a further presence out in the hallway. Multiple creatures waited not too far beyond the room's door.  
  
After the vampire fled the room, Sean felt rage explode from within the waiting creatures and they advanced. Sean heard the female vampire release a shrill scream as she spotted them.   
  
Reaching to his side and swinging the open door inward, Sean looked out into the hallway beyond.  
  
The hallway traveled down several yards before ending at another door. The left side of the hallway was open to railing and, beyond that, a set of stairs which spiraled downward to the mansion's entrance. The stairs met the hallway next to the far door across from the study Sean currently occupied. A gap stood in the railing not far from Sean. The wood had been broken away and most likely tumbled downward through the stair well. Sean recalled tossing a vampire in that direction when he had first approached the study.   
  
The right wall was solid and paneled by dark wood. A few panels were cracked and others were marked with blackened scorches. The floor of the hallway was covered in a plush red carpet and mostly unblemished.  
  
The female vampire had only gotten a few feet from the door before she had stopped. She now stood starring down the hallway at the top of the large staircase. Standing on the stairs top steps were four creatures. Looking beyond the vampire at the creatures, Sean's brow moved slightly in confusion.  
  
The creatures were humanoid, but definitely not human. They stood close to Sean's height and were covered in a pink scaling skin much like a reptiles. Each had a set of bony spikes protruding from the back of their heads in what seemed like a random pattern. Their eyes were deep set into their skulls and glittered red in their sockets. Sharp fangs protruded up and down from between the creatures' fat, dark lips. Their torsos were exposed and showed that the rest of their body was covered with the same type of large pink scales that covered their faces. Their hands ended in a set of massive claws which look as thick around as they were wide. From just below the elbows, a large spike of dark bone lanced outward behind them from their skin and upwards toward their shoulders. Below the waist, the creatures were thankfully wearing pairs of loose fitting breeches of a varied dark color.  
  
Each of the four creatures stood standing on a separate steps and were staring down the hallway at Sean and the female vampire. A slow snarl began stretching their faces. The lead creature at the top of the stairs took another step into the hallway. As he did, the female vampire again yelped and turned to run from them. As she turned, she ran into the form of Sean. He had stepped out from the study and into the hallway. Behind him, Sean closed the door.   
  
The vampire stepped back from Sean in surprise then glanced back over her shoulder at the creatures. Two now had stepped off the stairs and into the hallway. They slowly began stepping toward them. One opened his mouth and snarled at her as she watched them. Several lines of sharp teeth could be seen in his gaping maw.   
  
The vampire turned back to Sean who now stood watching the creatures as they approached. On his face showed only a mild look of curiosity.   
  
"They're greater dracos!" she shouted at him. "They probably sent them in here after you destroyed the place. They'll kill everything, including you."  
  
Sean glanced down at her then back up at the hallway.  
  
"I see." He stated.  
  
Sean had been wondering about the creatures after first seeing them. Scanning their thoughts, Sean saw only the thirst for death and destruction. They seemed nothing more than agents of chaos. However, they're distain reached toward all things and were no doubt a threat to almost every creature they met. They seemed to have no prejudice and wanted to kill everything with equal fervor.  
  
As the creatures continued down the hallway toward them, the female vampire stepped to Sean's side and pressed herself against the wall. Sean suspected that she was familiar with their zealousness, and was hiding with him only because she feared him less then she did them. He assumed that she was going to be little use in this fight.  
  
The largest of the creatures stood in the lead and sharply raised his hand out before the rest. They all stopped at his command. Taking a few steps forward, the lead creature stopped close to a yard in front of Sean. It then arched its back upwards and extended is arms outward. With pure menace, it snarled at Sean and slowly closed its clawed hands.  
  
From the creatures mind, Sean discovered that the beast was extending a challenge. The creature believed that it could defeat Sean single-handedly.   
  
In response, Sean stood unmoving and only watched the creature growling before him.   
  
After several moments, the beast clenched the muscles of its massive arms and crouched low to the ground. He continued to keep his eyes locked on Sean's emotionless face.  
  
Behind him, Sean heard the female vampire began whispering to herself.   
  
"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit" she repeated as Sean picked up flashes of panic welling up within her.  
  
As the female vampire watched from behind Sean, the creature before him suddenly clenched the muscles in his legs and leaped forward. Before him he held open his massive claws. The speed at which the draco moved astonished the vampire. His form was little more then a blur as he shot forward through the air. As his form reached Sean, the blur of his body suddenly changed direction. The female vampire watched as the draco's flight arched to the side away from them and over the railing to her left. His flight sent him directly into the far wall with a crash. He then fell downward and through the banister of the stairs below him and finally tumbled down the stair well..  
  
Looking back toward Sean with a surprised expression, she found Sean's left arm extended before him with his palm open upwards.  
  
She hadn't even seen him move.  
  
Looking past him and toward the remaining dracos, she saw a look of surprised across their demonic faces. It was a look she had never seen before. Some were staring down the stair well after their falling comrade, others watching Sean warily.  
  
Sean lowered his hand to his side and watched the remaining creatures.  
  
"Just go." He spoke, simply.  
  
The two closest creatures snarled at his words and bolted forward at him. Sean watched as they approached. Thinking back, Sean wasn't certain why he had just tried to address them. He wasn't even sure if they would understand him. He didn't feel the need to kill them, however, and he had hopped that they would see the folly of their actions and retreat. However, He wasn't surprised that they chose differently.  
  
As the creatures neared him, Sean reached forward and grasped the closest by his neck. He had his hand around on the beast before his target had noticed his movement. Lifting the creature with ease, Sean threw him backward toward the other oncoming beast. Both fell backwards and landed on the plush red carpet.   
  
The remaining creature who had been at the back of the line now leaped forward and over its comrades as they grappled to their feet. Running down the short hallway, the creature reached forward and swiped his clawed hand at Sean's abdomen.  
  
Seeing the attack, the female vampire yelped in warning to Sean. The creature's claw stopped inches from Sean's stomach, however. Sean's hand grasped the creatures arm around it wrist. The vampire saw Sean's hand twist. A teeth chattering crunch erupted from the creatures left shoulder. A stream of vile green blood sprayed across the carpet and the paneled hallway wall as the creature's arm tore form its torso. The draco howled in pain and stepped back from Sean. His right arm rose to grasp the wound on his left shoulder where its arm had once been.  
  
Looking back at Sean, the creature howled in anger and leapt forward with renewed ferocity.  
  
With a sharp move, Sean brought the creatures severed arm sweeping before him. It struck the attacking beast across its face. The creature rolled to the side and fell through the railing, its weight easily crushing the wooden frame.  
  
Sean tossed the severed arm over the railing after the falling beast.  
  
The remaining two creatures had regained their footing in time to see another of their kind falling over the side of the railing. Both again snarled and advanced on Sean.  
  
Sean was becoming weary of their moronic persistence. This would obviously continue until he had killed them all. Realizing that he could just push the remaining creatures off the hallway and over the edge with his mind, Sean almost laughed at himself. He was apparently doing this the hard way. Still, Sean knew that the fall was not killing these creatures. Sean could still feel the presence of the two he had already sent down the stair well. They would soon be back on their feet and heading up the stairs again.  
  
Behind Sean, the female vampire still watched with astonishment. She had only seen the dracos a few times and only when a threat warranted their type of attention. Each time, however, the display had been a gruesome one. The dracos had been known for their ferocity for as long as she could remember and were often used to keep other vampires in line. The threat, "or you'll be tossed in with the dracos" is not that uncommon. Even most demons wanted nothing to do with these single-minded beasts of carnage. Fighting along side a draco was almost impossible as the draco would have a hard time deciding if you were food or not.  
  
Watching Sean however, he had already defeated two of the creatures without a scratch. She couldn't believe it. The female vampire decided that if Sean really was a vampire, he must be hundreds of years old.  
  
She saw the two remaining dracos stand and then begin to advance on Sean once again. The vampire expected that Sean would just toss them over the railing like the others. As the creatures approached, the female vampire suddenly jumped as the entire form of Sean simply vanished. A moment before he had been occupying the space between her and the dracos and then suddenly he was gone. Her eyes shot upwards toward the two remaining demons.  
  
The vampire gasped. She again spotted Sean. He was now standing behind the two creatures and faced down the hallway toward her. Between them, one of the demons jumped then spun around to face Sean's new position. The other, did not move. He stood staring forward with a blank look across his face. The next moment, the still unmoving draco toppled forward. As he landed, his abdomen split in two and his upper torso landed on the carpet a foot from where the rest of him fell. Green blood poured out of the two portions of the demon from where his body had split in two.   
  
The sole remaining draco barely noticed his comrade falling next to him and leapt at Sean. Before the creature reached his target, Sean raise his hand up before him. Without it appearing as if he had even made contact, the remaining draco suddenly flew backwards and away from Sean.   
  
The female vampire barely ducked in time as the demon flew past her and into the study's closed door. The door shattered as the demon slammed into it. The demon and the broken doors wealth of books tumbled into the room. The demon finally met the floor inside the room's small fire pit. Instantly, the draco and his clothes caught fire.   
  
Standing from the fire, the demon began howling and flailing his burning arms around him. Stumbling about the room in panic, the demon crashed into several of the bookcases lining the room's walls. Each time he struck a bookcase, the flames from his body jumped to the books. Soon, the entire room was ablaze in flames.  
  
The female vampire watched in horror as the fire reached the study floor and caught the carpet. The flames then spread outward at an alarming rate and soon approached the study's exit. The vampire stood from the wall and raced backwards away from the flames. Again she struck the form of Sean standing just above the stairs. His eyes reflected the flickering flames as he watch the mansion catch fire. Looking back into the inferno, the vampire finally saw the fire engulfed form of the last draco crumple to the ground just inside the study. 


End file.
